


Crossroads

by NiCad



Series: A New Way [5]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Attachment Issues, Baby Yoda Gets Tickles from Din, Baby Yoda Gets a Name, Birthday, Blackouts, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Cutting, Death Watch (Star Wars), F/M, Flash Forward, Flashbacks, Force Healing, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Helmet rules, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Lewd Mandalorian Iron Joke, Mandalorian Culture, Mind Control, Nightmares, Order 66, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precognition, Protection, Raging Drunk Din, Religious Conflict, Safe Haven, Seduction to the Dark Side, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Suicidal Thoughts, Telepathy, The Force, Tipsy Din Djarin, Torture, Whump, endorphin rush, has done something horrible to Din and he has no idea, post-Season 1, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 144,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiCad/pseuds/NiCad
Summary: Still reeling from the battle on Nevarro, Din begins the search for his son’s people when he finds his first lead sooner than expected in the form of an enemy sorcerer survivor of Order 66.Two Force-sensitives and a Mandalorian, ancestral enemies, struggle together to heal and grow. They must stand together to overcome their pasts. They must stand together when Din’s faith in the Way is shattered by a devastating truth. They must stand together if they are to end Moff Gideon’s pursuit.Maybe, with a little help from an AWOL Rebel Shocktrooper, they can."I won’t ever forgive myself for that. Every time I put this armor on, I do it so I can protect you. It doesn’t belong to me. I bought it with your life. It belongs to you."
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A New Way [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699135
Comments: 201
Kudos: 356





	1. The Refugees

**Author's Note:**

> My version of Season 2 because I'm impatient and my brain won't shut up.
> 
> Not quite sure how to rate this. Expect Game of Thrones (book) levels of stuff.

_Pinche migra  
Déjame en paz_

_Fucking [Homeland Security]  
Leave me alone_

Santana, [Migra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdsJGfyNeRw)

* * *

A Mandalorian in full beskar armor, standing over a dead Twi’lek, hand still shaking as he lowered his blaster.

The image blurred and shifted.

The same Mandalorian, standing on a rocky and frozen landscape, cloak billowing in the wind. A Rebel Shocktrooper standing next to him, shouldering an enormous gun. The Mandalorian activated the lightsaber hilt in his hand.

The blade was yellow.

The image blurred and shifted again.

Rez cast her eyes about the caf, starlight filtering in through the great glass canopy above. She found Eagle, her favorite clone, in the corner by himself, the distinctive red and blue stripes on his armor visible from the far side of the hall. She walked over as fast as her little legs would carry her, dinner tray in hand, and joined him, sitting across the table.

“Good evening, _ad’ika_ ,” he said with a warm smile, helmet beside him on the table. “Late dinner for the younglings tonight?”

She swallowed the fork full of food she had already stuffed into her mouth. “My class just got back from Ilum.” The next words came out in an eager whisper. “I found my kyber crystal.”

“Congratulations!” he said, dipping his fork back into his meal. “May you show me?”

She grinned, pulling it from the secured pouch slung around her shoulder. Opening her palm, it glowed a brilliant yellow.

“Sentinel then,” Eagle nodded. “You never could decide if you were a fighter or a tech-head.”

Rez stuck her tongue out at him as she replaced the crystal in its pouch. “I can be _both_.”

He reached across the table and ruffled her hair. _“Mir’sheb verd.” Smartass warrior._

_“Vor’e, ba’vodu.” Thank you, uncle._

His smile faded with a sudden furrow of his brow and his fork dropped from his hand.

At the same time, Rez felt her stomach tie itself into a knot, and she almost vomited the few bites she had already put down.

“That… can’t be right…” he muttered to himself, hand drifting to his helmet. Rez could hear the chatter from the com unit within.

“Order 66. Commence Order 66.”

 _Run._ She heard the word in her head. Felt it in her chest. _Run._

She ran. She ducked as a blaster bolt zinged over her shoulder, just grazing her. She recognized it as coming from Eagle’s weapon. Screams filled the hall. The other clones opened fire on the rest of her class as she escaped through the exit.

The corridor was no better. Clones firing on Jedi, caught unsuspecting but fighting back, deflecting the blasts with their lightsabers, shielding the younglings as much as possible. _Up_ , her instincts, the Force, told her. No one ever looks up. A ventilation cover was at her knee. She pulled it off the wall, ducked inside the shaft, put her back to one wall, her feet to the other, and chimney-shuffled her way up until she reached a horizontal duct.

 _The nursery_. The really little younglings. She had to get them out. Just a short crawl. Blaster shots and screams rang out in the corridor below, but she managed to avoid any bolts that got deflected into the shaft. When she reached the nursery chamber, she looked down through the vent cover to see a Jedi enter the room. _Anakin_. She breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone could save them, he could.

And then he drew his lightsaber.

Rez froze.

_Oh, god. Oh, god no._

They were helpless. They were no more than toddlers. Ten seconds later, they were no more than blood and meat strewn on the floor. Rez bit down on her own hand to keep herself from screaming. Anakin was at the door by then, but his head snapped back around, as if he’d heard a survivor. _Shut up_ , the inner voice said. She pulled her hand out of her mouth, closed her eyes, and closed her mind.

Still, she could see Anakin Skywalker’s eyes as they found her though the grates of the vent cover. Red. Bloodshot.

Fully consumed by the Dark Side.

* * *

Rayne woke up screaming.

Home. She was home. Her home for the last five years. She turned her head to the window, looking out into the yard of her hangar, still dark this time of night. Empty.

She sank back into her bed and pulled the covers up to her ears, forcing herself to calm down.

The nightmare from more than thirty years ago was a recurring, if uncommon one. A previous life. A previous name. The bits before that, with the Mandalorian… those were new. She hadn’t seen a Mandalorian in ages. She had no idea what brought that part on.

Sometimes the Force just liked to mess with you.

She closed her eyes, willing herself back to sleep.

She had a gunship scheduled to arrive first thing tomorrow, and she had to be ready for it.

* * *

Rayne cast a wary eye on the ship as it settled into the hangar. A nice enough model, but ships that size and shape were generally used by two kinds of people: small-batch cargo haulers who needed guns on their boats to fend off pirates, and bounty hunters. The first were good enough folks. Just trying to make their way in the galaxy. The second… well. Bounties did tend to be actual bad guys after the fall of the Empire. Rebel activists were no longer actively targeted anyway, so she supposed that the fewer real criminals who were running around, the better. The problem was with the kinds of people who were good at rounding them up. Violent. Cunning. Deadly. It all came down to the motivation. Did they enjoy the idea of making the universe a safer place? Or did they enjoy the opportunities to be violent, cunning, and deadly?

The rear ramp lowered to reveal a Mandalorian. She frowned.

The same Mandalorian from her dream the previous night.

She pushed the thought aside. Sometimes the Force would throw you curveballs. You just had to roll with it. The bigger issue was the implied profession of her new client. A bounty hunter.

She left the shadow of the overhang to greet him as he strode down, lowering the shades from the top of her head to cover her eyes, meeting him at the end of the ramp. A good third of her business was with bounty hunters, and their money was just as good as everyone else’s. Given the amount of actual beskar this one was wearing, his would be quite good, indeed. “Whaddya’ need?”

He pulled out a checklist of issues. “It’s been about a year since the last overhaul. Had a lot of action since.”

She took the list and gave it a quick once-over. Intermittent fuel leak, rattles, slow cycling, spotty nav, hyperdrive degradation. Mostly standard stuff, but a few things could be tricky. Nothing she wouldn’t be able to figure out. “You know my policy.” It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “I’m not trafficking slaves. Hold’s empty. No contraband.”

She gave half a shrug. “I don’t care so much about contraband. But if I find Senator Organa’s severed head in there, you’re a goner.”

A sound that might have been a laugh barked out from the helmet followed by a vibe of, _What would you do about it if you did?_ None the less, his verbal response was, “It’s clean. But no droids. Your work only.”

She pushed the list back into his hand. “No bots, no work. I’ve programmed them myself. They won’t make any mistakes that I wouldn’t make.”

He stood in silence, the hand with the list still raised. When he hadn’t said anything after a five-count, she turned and walked back to the shade of the overhang. “You heard me. I don’t want your money if you’re that racist about droids. Go somewhere else.” If the Mandalorian had done enough research to know her service policy, he also knew she was the best mechanic and test pilot in the system. He could take it or leave it.

A long, frustrated sigh grated through the helmet’s modulator. “Fine.” She stopped and turned, accepting the list as he handed it back to her. “What’ll this run me?”

“Five hundred New Republic credits, or a reasonable equivalent upfront. I’ll hold off on anything else I might find until I talk to you about it.”

“Will twelve-thousand Calamari work?”

She tilted her head, running the math. It was actually a little over, but it would be tougher to exchange, so it seemed fair enough. “Sure.”

He tipped his head in agreement. “Another thousand for one more service.”

“What might that be?”

“Give me a moment.”

“Sure.”

He turned and headed back up the ramp, cloak billowing out behind him. She did a gut-check while she waited. He seemed a little more anxious than most other bounty hunters who landed in her shop, particularly for a Mandalorian. They tended to be ice-cold. Other than that and the anti-droid tick, he seemed fine. No underlying malevolence, at the very least.

She almost doubled over when her stomach made a sudden shift to the middle of her throat.

The Mandalorian had reappeared at the top of the ramp, rifle slung across his back, a bag of money in his hand.

And a small, green, round-eyed, large-eared baby settled in the crook of his arm.

Her heart hammered at the inside of her chest as she managed a few steps in their direction, the Mandalorian closing the rest of the distance between them. “I have some work in town. I’d rather leave him here.” She leaned forward, lifting the shades from her eyes with one hand, reaching out with a finger of the other to meet the baby’s grip, keeping her hands steady through sheer force of will. The baby’s ears pricked up as he smiled and laughed at her. “He likes you.”

“He’s a good judge of character. May I?”

“Of course.”

She moved to accept the baby in her arms, her mind flooding. The baby gurgled as the bounty hunter ran an affectionate finger along the top of one ear. All evidence indicated that he was happy and healthy. This explained the Mandalorian’s earlier anxiety, then. She was familiar with their affinity for foundlings. He was probably on his way back to his covert with the little one.

A savior as well as a bounty hunter, then.

She could definitely work with this.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mando is fine.”

She cast him a skeptical look. “A little generic, but since you’re probably the only one in the system at the moment, it’ll serve.” She looked back down at the bundle in her arms. “What’s this guy’s name?”

Another silent pause. “He doesn’t have one, yet.”

She kept her expression neutral. He may have picked the baby up recently, but it was wise to not ask too many unnecessary questions. But one more question was unavoidable. “What does he like to eat?”

“Um… frogs and toads, mostly. Whole. Live. Or whatever else he can manage to catch. He’ll eat soup, too. He likes to sit in the sun and watch when I work on the ship. Don’t worry if he manages to swallow a wrench. You’ll… get it back in the morning.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You can keep it and I’ll charge you for a new one.”

Another tip of the head in agreement. “Fair enough.” He handed her the money. “I may not be back until morning. He likes to sleep in the crate by the bunk, but he’ll want to be near you, so you can move it wherever you need to. He shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“I’ll add it to your bill if he is.”

The Mandalorian gave a gloved finger to the baby to clutch for a few more moments. “Be good. I’ll be back.” He paused, maintaining contact with the baby, as if awaiting confirmation. After a moment, he straightened and turned to face her full-on. “Thank you.” He turned and strode out of the hangar.

The baby watched him leave, ears flattening against his head. When Mando stepped out and disappeared through the doorway, he frowned and emitted a small whine. She bounced him a few times in her arms to distract him, and he brought his face up to meet her gaze, his smile returning. She ran a finger along the top of an ear, mimicking Mando’s earlier gesture. “You’ve had some adventures lately, haven’t you?”

The baby cooed.

“I bet you like shiny things.” He responded with another amicable gurgle. “I wonder…” She carried him back into the shop, rifled through a few drawers, then came up with what she was looking for. She went back outside where the sun’s rays glinted off of the perfectly-polished bearing. Indeed, the baby reached for it with enthusiastic little fingers. She let him hold it for a bit, watching as he put his mouth around it and spin it with his hands. After a few moments, she picked it back up and held it aloft, smiling. “Ready?”

The baby clapped.

She under-handed and threw it straight up in the air. The baby watched its ascent, spreading his hands wide as it descended.

And stopped it in mid-air just at the point where it had left her hand a moment ago, hands outstretched, nothing between them and the hovering ball, letting out a peal of delighted laughter.

“I thought so,” she said.

* * *

Din felt the tension in his chest release as he heard the kid’s laughter over the top of the hangar walls.

_No getting scolded by **this** mechanic, at least._

The kid had been clingy and difficult to console after departing Nevarro a week ago; understandable, given all they had been through. Suffering from pounding headaches and recognizing that they both needed a break, he’d set down at a market, spent all the money he had left on meat, bone broth, and veggies, picked an empty spot on the map, set the Razor Crest adrift, and they’d done nothing but eat and sleep for the next three days. On the fourth, he woke up, realized he no longer felt like death warmed over, put a call in to Karga to pull a string for an easy-yet-lucrative bounty, and got to work on removing his own blood from his clothes and the inside of his helmet. By the time he finished, Karga’s response had come through. Two days later, he’d had the bounty rounded up and been paid enough to finally set the Razor Crest to rights.

So here they were.

Mechanics were just like any other skilled profession. Some had a code, some didn’t. Some who had a code were masters of their trade, some were crap. Rayne Rollins was known as a master mechanic with a code; she chose her clientele as much as they chose her. He’d been wanting to take the ‘Crest to her for years; he knew she was expensive, but she wouldn’t cheat him, and he finally had enough money to afford her now that he was back with the Guild. Whether she and the kid would take to each other was a pure gamble, but it had rolled in his favor. He trusted the kid’s judgment implicitly. If the introduction had gone poorly, he’d have lifted off and tried somewhere else.

But god, that would’ve been a huge pain in the ass. The price of letting her use droids on his ship was worth it. He’d lucked out on this part of his day.

He was disappointed that Cara had decided to stay on Nevarro. She was dependable. She was tough. She got it done. And if something happened to him, he needed someone to pick up where he left off. He’d looked his own death in the face, reflected in IG-11’s optics when the droid removed his helmet, and he really, really did not want to do that again. If Nevarro had taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t do this alone.

It had also taught him that anyone who took the opportunity to help him could very well pay for it with their lives.

Kuiil. IG. Almost the entire damn covert.

Cara had beaten the odds with him twice. He knew she had the stones to survive whatever he led her through. But he had to acknowledge that she and the kid weren’t always on the same page. That was something that could probably resolve itself over time, but he couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be cooped up in an enclosed environment with a deadly-strong baby who had almost killed her.

He had to choose carefully. And he was starting over from scratch.

* * *

He returned to the hangar sometime in the middle of the night, surprised to see Rayne still awake, seated by a small fire ring, flame still lit, turning what looked like three pairs of frog legs on a spit. The kid was next to her in his crate, sitting up and playing with a large bearing almost the size of his head. They were both looking at him as he came through the entryway as if they knew he was coming, the kid’s ears pricked up and mouth smiling.

Had his footsteps been so loud?

He crossed the hangar to the kid’s outstretched hands, picking him up and setting him into the crook of his left arm. His eyes, big and wide a few moments ago, now began to narrow with sleep. “It’s late for him to still be up.”

Rayne shrugged. “He got a few good naps in today. Been staring at the entry since it got dark. I don’t think he wanted to fall asleep for the night without you.”

That seemed reasonable. “Did he eat?”

“Caught three toads and swallowed them whole. Caught six more and gave them to me. I had no idea I had such a toad infestation in my own hangar. I hope you like frog legs. There’s three more pair on a plate up on the flight deck. You’ll want to eat them before we talk about how things went today.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t realize how famished he was until the suggestion. Still, he first returned his gaze to the kid, who had fallen asleep. All seemed well with him, then. Din returned him to his crate and wrapped him in his blanket before heading up the ramp. He climbed up to the flight deck, locked the door, and took a look out of the port windscreen. Rayne was still sitting with her back to the Razor Crest, pulling the frog legs off of the spit and onto her own plate.

Good enough.

He slumped into the pilot’s chair, heaving a sigh, closing his eyes for a few moments before he could bring himself to do anything else. Things had gone well enough today. He’d found a quick local bounty, brought him in, and got paid enough to cover a month’s worth of supplies and fuel. Enough to get them started for what lay ahead. Still, it had been a long one. Knowing it would only get longer if he didn’t get moving, he brought his hands to his helmet and lifted it off of his head for the first time in nearly a day, placing it on the side console. He took his gloves off and placed them next to the helmet.

The frog legs smelled _wonderful_. The bread next to them smelled good, too. He picked up the plate, realizing it was still warm. A glass of water and a mug of beer were next to it, still cold. Rayne’s timing was suspiciously excellent. He let the thought slide as he dove in. The meal was simple. Frog had always tasted to him like chicken that had been sitting next to fish in a refrigerator for several days, but he liked it well enough. The beer was a light ABV, just enough to take the edge off the day without pulling him down too far. The water washed it all down with a clean finish. Anxiety about what Rayne had to say driving off the drowsiness he by all other rights would be feeling at the moment, he hauled himself out of the chair, took another look out the window, and confirmed that she was still in her place by the fire. She was a slow eater, only now just starting on her second pair of frog legs, the kid still zonked out in the crate next to her. He picked up his gloves, put his helmet under his arm, and opened the door to the hold. He was still for a moment, listening. Watching. When he was satisfied no one was out there, he descended and headed to the sink.

He went about flossing and brushing his teeth quickly, not wanting to take too long about it with the rear ramp down. Still, he took a brief moment of inspection before the mirror. The usual olive-skinned face stared back at him. He was much darker when he was young, when he had been free to play in the sun. No bruises today, the bloodshot had finally left the whites in his eyes, his pupils were symmetrical, no more blood to wash off. The stubble on his jaw was getting too long – it came in patchy, brushed up under the helmet, and bugged him. He’d have to shave within the next day or two. His hair had been too long for a while, now. He’d tried shaving that down all the way a few times too, but the bristles felt weird under the helmet. It laid flatter when it was several centimeters longer. Now, after a long day and several months since the last cut, it was a disheveled mess. Not quite curly, not quite straight, just damp and wavy. Before the kid, he’d been free to cut it whenever he needed to and wander about his own ship without the helmet to let it dry. He hadn’t figured out a better system to work around his guest, yet.

Not _guest. Son_.

Later.

For now, he regarded the sweaty disarray of his own reflection. _Remember who you are. Remember who you are not. This is the Way._

He slipped the helmet back over his head and headed down the ramp.

He found Rayne still by the fire, empty plate on the ground by her chair, legs stretched out, cradling a half-empty mug of beer, gazing into the flames. He regarded her for a moment. A few shades over a meter and a half, lean, curly brown hair swept forward at the top of her head and buzzed short at the back, bleached at the tips. He’d noted the blue of her deep-set eyes earlier in the day. Fair-skinned. Not beautiful by any means, but she probably would have been called cute in her younger days. He would have placed her in her late-thirties were it not for the hints of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t _look_ threatening, but he’d noticed a distinct lack of security droids and other gear that was otherwise common at spacecraft hangars. As good as her mechanical reputation was, it couldn’t possibly be good enough on its own to protect her from the collapse that the rest of society was undergoing.

Could it?

“You can stand there all night or you can put the plates in the tub by the door.”

“Oh... sure, yeah.” He picked up her plate, stacked it with his own, and placed them in the indicated tub by the shop door. He noted her gaze follow him as she watched his return to the kid. He knelt to the small bundle in the crate, picked him up, and headed to the other chair by the fire, placed so his back was to the ship but he still had a clear view of Rayne and the exit. Odd how she had placed the chair exactly where he would have wanted it. He settled his weight into it and snuggled the kid into the crook of his elbow, taking a moment to watch as the kid shifted and gave a contented burble, lids still closed. “What do I owe you for dinner?”

She shook her head, gaze returned to the fire. “Your boy caught enough for all of us. I just cooked it. Consider that one settled up.”

He tilted his head in thanks. “What else did you want to discuss?”

“Are you familiar with Master Yoda?”

“No.”

“Are you familiar with the Jedi?”

“… Yes.”

“Master Yoda was the most powerful of all the Jedi. He was also the same species as your boy.”

“… Oh.” Din had the sinking feeling that he was about to get a scolding from this mechanic after all. “What species is that?”

Rayne shook her head, to his mix of relief and disappointment. “I don’t know, actually. No one else seems to, either.” She paused, looked down into her beer, then brought the mug up to take several swallows. She set it on the ground and picked up the bearing that the kid had been playing with earlier, turning it over in her hands, watching as the flames reflected off of the smooth surface. “Are you familiar with the Force?”

The Force. He imagined it capitalized as written, the way she said it. By now, he knew damn well what it was, between the kid’s well-timed demonstrations and some further enlightenment from the Armorer. Didn’t mean he understood it, though, and he didn’t understand why a mechanic on an Outer Rim planet was asking him about it, so he decided to play stupid. “No.”

“I think you are.”

Was he really that bad of a liar? “I don’t understand.”

“You missing any forks? Spoons?”

“What?” He was, actually. He was thankful for his habit of tucking the kid into his left arm, leaving his right hand free for his blaster.

Rayne shook her head. “I found about half a dozen of each stuck to the ceiling of the hold. Every single one sunk half-way through metal plate. Someone’s been launching small objects around in there, and I’m pretty sure it’s not you. I need you to be honest with me, here. Your boy is Force-sensitive.”

He could answer with nothing but stony silence.

“I’ll make this easy for you.” She turned her head to look at him, holding the bearing out in one hand. She gave it a lazy toss in his direction.

Before he could move to catch it, the kid’s eyes snapped open and his hands reached out, and he held it in mid air, eye-level with Din’s helmet. The kid giggled and bounced it in the air.

Rayne heard what she swore was Din’s teeth click shut through the modulator. “How did you know?” His voice, previously a smooth tenor, was now cracking.

She whistled and motioned with her hand, and the kid tossed the bearing back to her. Again, before it could land in her hand, it hovered in mid-air above her palm. She turned back to the fire, tossed the ball back and forth above both hands a few times, then let it drop to her fingertips, watching it land in her lap. “I am, too.”

“You’re one of them? You’re a Jedi?”

“No. Just Force-sensitive. In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that makes it possible for me to know your emotional state. I can’t read your mind and your beskar limits the range, but I can’t help but notice what you project if I’m right next to you. Same goes for him.”

Din looked back down at the kid, and indeed, the corners of his eyes and ears were pulled down with fear. Din stuffed his own fear down and cradled him tightly. “Sorry, kid,” he whispered. He took a deep breath, not sure if he could summarize everything adequately. “I picked him almost a year ago – he was a bounty. I bailed on it. We were on the run until last week when we… got the bounty lifted.”

“I did some reading.” Rayne was once again turning the ball over in her hands. “Your story lines up with what I saw about Nevarro. The first time you took off with him, the Imp raid on the covert, the Imps you mowed down last week.” She paused, watching the flames flicker in the bearing’s surface. “You might be interested to know that Moff Gideon survived.”

_Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit._

“Since you’re back in the good graces of the Guild, he’s probably going to come after you himself, now.”

Din’s heart sank to his knees. Back on the run again. “I’m sorry. We’ll leave right now so we won’t draw him to you.” He started to get up from the chair, but something pushed him down. “What?”

She could feel his accusation. “That’s not me. That’s him. He’s a lot stronger than I am, and he knows you don’t have to leave.”

“Why not?”

Rayne lifted her gaze up to the sky, and only then did he notice the metal lattice work forming a dome over the hangar, interrupting the view of the stars overhead. “You mostly got your wish today. I had the bots build that while I worked on your ship. It should scramble whatever fobs Gideon is using while you’re under it.”

“We’re trapped here.”

“For now, yes. I think I can design a scrambling system for your ship, but that’ll cost you another three thousand Calamari.”

“Ok.”

“I’m pretty sure I can develop personal units, but that could take a while. I’m not sure how long… there’s a lot of ways for it to go wrong on that scale. Bounty hunters would’ve been out of work ages ago if it was easy.”

“But we would be safe.”

“Safer… ish, yeah. Fobs aside, you two aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”

“Do it. Whatever it takes. I’ll get you the money.” _Free. We can be free._

“ _You_ can be free. Him… I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

Again, her gaze was focused back to the bearing. “The Force… it’s like any other kind of power. Put a lot of it in any one place, and things go very badly very quickly if it’s not managed properly. Your boy is a sweet little frog-eating ball of laughs now, but what do you think will happen when he gets to be an adolescent?”

Din recalled his own adolescence. He had donned his helmet by then and had been well into his training. None the less, things had been difficult more often than not. Questioning whether he’d made the right decision, questioning whether he was worthy, hating the circumstances that had stripped him of other options, hating the world that robbed him of his parents. What would he have done with the power to lift a mudhorn? “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. We have to find his people.”

“… We?”

“You,” she corrected. “You have to find his people.”

“That’s the plan. This is our last stop to get the ship tuned up and stock supplies. I wasn’t expecting to get a lead so soon. Do you know how to reach the Jedi?”

She shook her head. “Order 66.”

“I don’t understand.” God, he’d been saying that a lot, tonight.

“Order 66. Decommission all Jedi with lethal force. Carried out by the clone troopers.” She paused, letting that sink in. “The clones were ordered to kill the Jedi, and they complied.” She turned her head toward Din, her eyes locked on his visor. “Jango Fett was the clone template.”

Din met her gaze the best he could, could almost feel the air buzz around him, could definitely feel the kid squirm in his arms. “There’s… some debate about whether Jango Fett was Mandalorian. He was from Mandalore, but he may not have sworn the Creed.”

“The clones’ armor was an homage to the Mandalorians. They adopted Mandalorian customs. They spoke the Mandalorian language. And they murdered my people.”

“You said you weren’t a Jedi.”

“I never got the chance.”

Her gaze was now a cold, hard, stare. Her fingers gripped the bearing in her lap, and he could see her chest rise and fall in hard, even draws. The sound of his own breath in his helmet nearly drowned it all out.

“I’m sorry.”

It was all he could think of to say.

She took a final, long breath, then relaxed and turned back to the fire. “That was the correct response. Thank you.”

Din sat back in his chair, loosening his grip on the kid, but remained silent, not knowing enough about the conflict between the Jedi and his own people to say anything intelligible about it, but knowing that this was not the time. It all sounded eerily similar to the Great Purge, the Empire’s slaughter of his own people and the destruction of Mandalore itself.

Rayne filled in the gaps. “All this is to say that I’m not fond of the idea of hiding behind armor. Hiding behind uniformity. It has a way of making it easier for people to hide from the things they’ve done. Hide behind their orders. All the more reason I admire you for taking off with the kid. Somehow you managed to break through the uniformity and do the right thing. I want you to understand this – the sight of your armor freaks me out a little. But I can see through it, to some degree. I see the guy who’s under all the beskar, who put it all on the line to save what you thought was only a baby. You also need to understand that you may very well have saved the strongest power of the Force in the universe. You’re going to need that armor to continue to protect it. Do you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Now it was Din’s turn to gaze into the guttering fire. The armor felt heavy on his chest as he breathed under it. “I’m beginning to.”

“Ok.” Rayne got up and spread out the coals. “I’m beat. So are you. Let me know when you’re ready to start in the morning.” She shuffled out of the yard toward the door to the shop.

“My name is Din,” he called, voice soft, just before she went through the door.

She stopped and turned back to face him. “What?”

He paused, surprised at himself, as well. Then he realized it didn’t matter. Gideon had already let the loth-cat out of the bag. If that asshole could know his name, then the person in the best position to help him and the kid right now could know it, too. Her face was unreadable in the starlight, but he chose not to switch to a more sensitive spectrum. He had his mask. He would allow Rayne hers, for the moment. “My name is Din. Din Djarin. I’d rather that didn’t get around too far, but I won’t hide from you.”

She was still for a moment, the silence broken by a gentle coo from the kid. “Good to meet you, Din Djarin.” She turned and stepped through the door into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to work in a theory I read elsewhere about a topic that season 2 might cover. As far as I know it's purely speculation, but based on some big clues in the first season and deduced by folks familiar with Mandalorian history. Not technically a spoiler, but proceed as you wish. (I hope they do cover it because I think it's MIND BLOWING and I'm sure they'll do a better job of it than I will. Fingers crossed.)


	2. The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Rayne work on fixing the Razor Crest, discuss their philosophies on droids, do a little sword sparring, talk about parenting a Force-sensitive child, and argue about religion.
> 
> By the way, Death Watch has prrrrrobably done something horrible to Din.
> 
> And he has no idea.

_I'm on a long sojourn  
I'm sitting here shedding my skin  
Don't know about inside, ugly on the outside  
They're all messing with me for the shape I'm in  
I'm looking for a clean slate…   
And I'm a long, long way from anywhere real safe_

Bruce Hornsby, [Resting Place](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aZ6thdtXRV4)

* * *

“So what’s your thing against droids, anyway?”

“Had a bad experience.”

Din was holding a landing strut in place while Rayne welded. Now both were masked. He felt more at ease, able now to escape, or at least not notice, the occasional penetrating gazes from below Rayne’s brows while she had the welding shield down. He had to admit that her work was thorough; measurements double-checked, assemblies triple-tested, cuts made with a steady hand. Her reputation was well-earned. Chit-chat had been minimal, limited mostly to describing the causes of various kinds of damage and explaining the bits of Jawa hair that had managed to stick here and there, which also happened to coincide with why the ship had so obviously been stripped bare and re-assembled in the field. Oh, she’d had a good laugh at his expense on that one. At least the ground defense protocols Din and Kuiil installed during the rebuild seemed to meet with her approval.

“Oh yeah?” she responded after he didn’t elaborate. “I had a bad experience with a clone trooper dressed in head-to-toe armor, but I didn’t kick you out of my hangar.

“Droids destroyed my village and murdered my parents when I was a child.”

The words came through the modulator in a voice that did not crack. Did not betray any emotion whatsoever. Whether his tone was meant to protect himself or sting her, Rayne couldn’t tell. She lowered the torch and faced him, paused for a moment, then said “I’m sorry.” It was strange, responding to such a thing in such a way with neither party able to look the other in the eye. When he didn’t respond, she resumed welding. “But, yeah, that’ll do it.” She continued the weld a little further, then paused again, lifting the shield to inspect her work. “Thing about droids is, they reflect their creators. Malicious programming and a military build will get you a monster. Solid programming and a purposeful build will get you a reliable tool. Don’t blame the droid. Blame the programmer.” Those blue eyes met his once more, then went back to examining the hinges above the weld.

Din was quiet, remembering Kuiil’s words to the same effect. Remembering the drastic transformation IG-11 had undergone at the Ugnaught’s hand. Indeed, the droid had been a disturbing mix of its original resiliency and lethal skill with Kuiil’s benevolence. He hated to admit the fact that he owed the droid his life twice over, but there it was. Both Kuiil and the droid he reprogrammed now lay dead or blown to slag on Nevarro, sacrifices to Din’s quest to protect the kid. Blame the sins of the droid on the programmer. But pin the virtues, as well.

Two of the bots working at the top hull of the Razor Crest chose that moment to start bickering in a stream of bleeps and blurbs, requiring Rayne to step out from under the shade of the engine assembly to see what was up. “Hey! What’s going on?” Din listened as they both chortled at the same time, willing himself to not blow his stoic visage with a laugh. Rayne cut them off with a sweep of her hand. “One at a time. Alpha, you first.” Alpha gave its version of events in a stream of low tones, and then Rayne pointed to the other one. “Beta?” Beta’s response was pitched higher, with faster syllables. When it was finished, Rayne crossed her arms for a moment, pondering. “Ok, yeah, I see the problem. That pump will be easier to fix if you take it out and bring it into the shop where all the hydraulic tools are. It should weigh about fifty kilos but it has handles. Can you two manage it or do you need me?” The bots replied in unison with the same tones, in apparent agreement. “Ok, thanks. Get to it.” She returned and picked up the welder. The kid, sitting in the shade under the belly of the ship, giggled and clapped his congratulations to the resolution of the situation.

“Did you just say ‘thanks’ to your droids?” Din’s tone was incredulous. He’d never seen such a thing, even from Kuiil.

“Yes, I did thank them. They’re just like any other tool – they deserve respect. And they’re not droids. They’re just robots.”

“What’s the difference?”

“They’re not fully AI. I didn’t give them autonomy.”

“Why not?”

“Because then they would be slaves, and I’m not a slave owner.”

“Huh.” Din tipped his head to the side. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Anyone who puts a restraining bolt on a droid doesn’t deserve to have the droid working for them.”

“I had a droid for a bounty, once. I stuck a restraining bolt on it. It had eight arms and I didn’t have enough cuffs.”

“The droid wasn’t working for you. I hope they found the developer and reprogrammed it. Did… you didn’t freeze it in carbonite, did you?”

“Nope. I wish I could’ve. Just made it stand in the corner. Damn thing stared at me for two weeks before I could finally unload it.”

“Can you take the helmet off with droids around?”

Goddammit, she knew right where to cut. “Ideally, no.” He wouldn’t lie to her, but he didn’t feel compelled to spill more than he had to, at the moment.

“That’s why you don’t have security cameras on your ship.”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” She gave the weld a final look, then turned to watch as the two bots maneuvered the hydraulic pump from the portside engine actuator down the maintenance ladder. Seeing them safely to the ground, she turned back to Din. “Let’s get that fob scrambler installed while they work on the pump. Then we’ll take her up for a spin once we get everything put back together.”

* * *

Din sat in the starboard jump-seat, an unfamiliar position for him on his own ship, strapped in, arms wrapped around the kid. Rayne flipped through the ignition sequence like she’d owned the ship for years instead of first setting foot in it yesterday. “You specialize in this model?”

“Nope.”

It was not the answer he expected.

She fired the port engine first, standing at the windscreen and watching the thruster flare before it burned clean. Satisfied, she fired the starboard engine, leaning around Din for an unobstructed view. Smiling, she sat in the pilot’s chair… his chair… and strapped herself in. “I’m gonna’ push it good and hard, so hang on.” She turned to face them. “You guys ready?”

“Sure.” His tone was a mixture of eagerness and bemusement.

“Excellent.” She turned back, locked the swivel, and lowered the reflective amber-lensed flight goggles over her face and brought the comm mic down to her lips. She opened the comm and Din heard it crackle over the receiver in his helmet. “Gama, retract the dome.” Din watched as the overhead latticework split down the middle and cracked open, the middle reaching up and out to the sky as the sides swung down on their hinges. She flicked the comm to a different channel. “Halcyon Tower, this is Rollins Hangar requesting clearance for high-speed atmospheric exit with a Class-C gunship. Test vector Z-29-Phi. Weapons are off-line.”

“Copy that Rollins Hangar. You are clear for high-speed atmospheric exit, test vector Z-29-Phi at eight thousand meters bearing eight-one-eight.”

“Eight thousand meters bearing eight-one-eight, copy. Rollins Hangar out.” Din watched as she pushed forward on the lift thrusters, the lever sliding through her long fingers. He waited for it to catch in its usual place and was surprised when it didn’t happen, missing the usual resulting bump at two thousand meters. Her feet worked the pedals and the Razor Crest turned into an easy spin as they rose, then she eased forward on the throttle and the outskirts of the city slid by below them. By the time they reached the edge of civilization, they had gained eight thousand meters of elevation. “Here we go.”

She punched the throttle.

The ship leaped forward, pressing his back into the seat and the kid into his gut. The grav field in the flight deck was tuned down from the steady-state set of the cargo area. She had set it so you could turn the ship upside down and anyone back there wouldn’t know the difference. Up here, you wanted to let the field throw you around a little. Enough so you knew how the ship was moving, but not so much that you brought your lunch back up into your helmet and asphyxiated yourself when the going got rough. With one arm still around the kid, he brought a hand to the instrument panel, confirming the lack of vibration that was usually there while clearing atmosphere.

“Hang on. I’m going to test some vector changes.”

He brought his arm back around the kid just in time as Rayne swung the ship into a hard dive angling to starboard, her head turned just a bit in his direction, everything above the tip of her nose concealed by the goggles, her mouth betraying the beginnings of a smile.

The kid giggled.

She changed vectors again, swinging the ship up and to port, the cords standing out in her neck as she looked over her other shoulder. Maintaining the same vector, she turned the ship into a barrel roll, the weight of the helmet pressing at the top of Din’s head in the G forces of the loops. Leveling out, she found one last cloud in the upper atmosphere and punched the ship into it, enveloping the flight deck in darkness, rain and hail smacking the windscreen with machine-gun-fire percussiveness. Finally, he felt turbulence through the hull, but not nearly what he expected, given the density of the storm system. Lightning flickered and leaped all around them, spanning great canyons in the cloud, and he watched as one bolt struck the starboard engine, envelop the ship as it conducted around the hull, then exited off the port engine, leaving them untouched.

And then they were out into space, black all around, stars above, the gentle curve of the planet below before she turned the ship and put the planet on the port side for orbit.

The kid let out another peal of laughter and clapped.

Rayne sat back and took a deep, satisfied sigh. “That was nice.”

“It was.”

She took a quick glance around, confirming that no other vessels were in the immediate area, then flipped a few switches and consulted the diagnostics on the view screen. She nodded, satisfied with what she saw, then sat back in the chair to look back out at the stars. “Atmospheric and transfer-to-orbit operations check out. We’ll probably wrap up hyperdrive and navigation tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

She ran a finger along the console. “She’s a good ship, Din. Give her a little love every now and then and she’ll stay with you.”

Her words touched him more deeply than he expected. After Mayfeld’s crack about the ‘Crest’s appearance and his bug-faced droid’s comments about the upkeep, which he grudgingly admitted was his own fault, the remark seemed to heal something in him. His ship – his home – was almost whole again. The kid burbled in his lap, and he realized he hadn’t responded. A repeated “Thank you,” was all he could come up with.

“I want to orbit for a couple of laps to test your surface-scan and zero-G grav. It’ll take about half an hour.”

“Sounds fine.” He looked down and saw that the kid was fast asleep. Typical – instant lights-out the minute all the fun stuff stopped. He had to admit that the kid seemed to have calmed down since they’d arrived at Rayne’s hangar. Whether it was simply a change of scenery or a more complicated matter of being near another Force-sensitive person, he couldn’t tell. He turned his head and watched the stars slide by, letting his eyes close for just a little bit, listening as Rayne worked. After an undetermined amount of time, he realized that the flight deck was silent. He opened his eyes and looked in Rayne’s direction without turning his head. She was leaned back, arms folded over her chest, goggles pushed up to the top of her head, looking out of the windscreen at about 2 o’clock. Not quite in his direction, but enough so that he could tell where she was looking. Her eyes seemed to track something in the distance for a few moments before flicking back to something else, tracked that for awhile, then flicked to the next.

After a minute or so, she turned her head just enough to meet his gaze, as if she’d known he was looking at her despite the angle of his visor. “Enjoying the view?”

He resisted the reflex to turn in her direction. “Yes. You?”

She turned back to face forward. “I am. I don’t get out here as often as I’d like. Hangar feels a little confined, sometimes.”

“A spacecraft hangar. Confined.”

Her head dipped to the instrument panel, then back up to the windscreen. “I prefer wide-open spaces.”

Her tone suggested there was more to it than that, but also that she’d rather not discuss it, so he gave her the out. “Fair enough.”

* * *

Din landed the Razor Crest, perhaps a little chagrined that it didn’t handle quite as smoothly under his hand as it had Rayne’s. She passed it off as having changed so many settings on him that it was merely a matter of him getting used to a properly-running ship again.

She was good at being nice when she wanted to be.

She followed him and the kid down the rear ramp, the kid tonking along on his little legs, the Mandalorian swinging his arms and rolling his shoulders, looking up as the latticework finished closing overhead.

“Feeling restless?”

“Yes.”

“How’s your sword handling?”

He turned to face her when he reached the bottom of the ramp. “Could use some work.”

“Mine too. Let me set the bots to finish up with today’s stuff on your ship and we can spar.”

He titled his head back and heaved a sigh. “Ffffiiiiinnne.”

The kid giggled.

She brought out a long, thin case, placed it on a table by the shop wall, and opened it to reveal two practice sabers. They were simple. Dull edges but nicely balanced. Good for sparing with someone you didn’t know well or when you didn’t want to ding up your good blade. Rayne handed one to Din. “Clean game to start. No other weapons.”

“Agreed,” he responded. “One more thing.” They had placed the kid in his crate on the table so he could watch from safety in the shade. Din stepped in front of him and took a knee so he was eye-level with him. “Rayne and I are going to play a little rough here, but don’t worry. We’re just going to have some fun. It might look bad, but we’re not going to hurt each other, so it’ll be ok. She’s a _friend_. Got it?” He offered the kid a finger. He smiled, cooed, and wrapped a hand around the glove. Din waved it around a bit before pulling free. “Good.” He hoped that would stave off any Force-choking of the mechanic before the ship was completely fixed.

He followed Rayne out to the hangar yard, then took a position opposite of her, taking a few practice swings to loosen his shoulders and test the saber’s balance and weight. He watched as she did the same, her eyes shielded by amber shades as the sun poured down.

They faced each other and stilled. “Ready?” she asked, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Ready.”

They both leaped to close the distance between each other, swords clashing for a few perfunctory swings before separating, both of them pulling their shots to start.

Then Din attacked. Hard.

Rayne was ready, blocking every swing, smile growing wider. She gave no ground, kept up with his every move, and then caught him on the thigh, her blade sparking off of the beskar. He hopped back and reset. “Lucky shot.”

“We’ll see,” she responded.

He attacked again, and this time she blocked even harder, knocking him back. He was more skilled than she was, with diverse striking combinations and graceful handling. But what she lacked in skill and grace she made up for in speed and power. She was much stronger than he expected for her size. He managed to push her off for a moment. “You’re using the Force. That’s cheating.”

“Only enough to make up for the weight difference. I’ll stop using the Force if you drop the armor.”

He gave a half-shake of the head. “Nope.”

Her smile grew wider, almost feral. “Didn’t think so.” And then she attacked. He was able to block all of her swings. She didn’t have much in the way of combination change-ups, but she came on so fast that he didn’t have time to pull any offensive moves of his own. After what felt like a long time but was probably no more than thirty seconds, he realized she was wearing him down, striking in the same way over and over again, forcing him to use the same muscles to defend himself, while at the same time not showing any signs of tiring, herself. Sweat ran down her arms and her breath came in long pulls, but they were even draws, and each hit was as strong as the last.

Finally, he managed a slip and she missed, spinning out of the way as he caught her just above the knee. The blade was too dull to slice the fabric of her leggings, but the strike would leave a hell of a bruise, and she hopped on the other foot a couple times before re-setting. “Lucky shot,” she said.

He responded with a shrug and tilt of the head.

“Getting hot under all that armor?”

He remained silent, side-stepping away as she circled the yard, trying to recover.

“How much does all that weigh, anyway?”

“Does the Force power your mouth as much as it powers your blade?”

Her smile broke into an outright grin. “Can’t help it. I was born with this.”

“Yeah?” Din thumped the plate on his chest with his fist. “I _earned_ this.”

He attacked once more and she engaged her defenses, meeting each of his strikes with a block, letting him wear himself down. When his strikes began to taper off, she tried to rally him. “Come on, Djarin! Get after it!” It worked for a few more swings, but then he staggered and she swept his feet, bringing him down. He rolled and caught her ankle, bringing her down as well. Only thing was, she rolled and got back up.

He stayed down.

The sun beat down on him, shining into the visor of his helmet. His head pounded. Maybe it hadn’t been such an awesome idea to try this so soon after the concussion blast of a week ago. The sun was blocked by Rayne’s shadow as she stepped into view above him, breathing hard, and brought the tip of her sword to his throat. “Was that fun, or what?”

“Fun. Yeah. Sure.”

She offered him a hand and pulled him back to his feet, but when they walked back to the shade of the overhang, she was the one limping. “I clipped you pretty hard. You gonna’ be ok?”

“Yeah. I think you boy has a Force trick he’s been wanting to try out that might help.”

Din followed as Rayne hobbled to the table, backed herself onto it, and pulled the bottom of her legging up over her knee to expose the bruise that had already formed above it. The kid was looking at her with a wide-eyed stare, mouth open in a small O. She picked him up out of the crate and placed him next to her so he could reach the wound while sitting. Without hesitation, he reached out towards her with his left hand, tiny fingers spread wide, and closed his eyes. She placed a hand at his back to hold him steady, feeling the small body tremble with effort.

He watched as the bruise faded and the swelling receded. After a few moments, all traces of it were gone, and the kid opened his eyes, looking up at Rayne. She smiled and picked him up to cradle him in the crook of her arm. “Good job.”

Din was silent for several more moments before he could finally find his voice, still in awe of how so much power could be housed in such a little body. “He’s done this before. I didn’t teach him. He just seems to know what to do.”

She pulled her gaze from the kid to face the visor. “Healing is an instinct for us. He’s always had it in him. Just needs a chance to use it on simple things to start with.”

“Can you do the same thing?”

“Yeah. I’m only low- to mid-level with the Force, but I’m pretty good with healing.”

“The Force is just another version of armor.”

“In a way, I guess.”

“Only you hide the fact that you have it. I’m up-front about what I’ve got.” He forced himself to place the sword on the table instead of tossing it before he turned and walked back toward the ship.

She let him gain about twenty paces before she turned back to the kid in her arms. “Here comes today’s lesson in diplomacy.”

She found him in the cargo hold, disassembling his rifle, getting ready to clean it. “You’re angry because you think I was toying with you.”

He didn’t answer, continuing his work.

“Am I wrong?”

He placed the barrel of the rifle back on the table. “Not entirely.” He paused, running a finger along the scope, refusing to meet her gaze. “I’m just… I’ve been in over my head since I picked up the kid. I’m not used to that. Just when I thought we were in the clear, I learn that the Imps are still breathing down my neck. I just got my ass handed to me by someone who claims to be on the low end of the Force. You said the kid was stronger than you.”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

She looked down at the sleepy, smiling green face and gave the kid a few bounces. “He’s off the charts.”

Din let out a long, slow sigh. “He’s dangerous.”

Rayne noticed the kid’s ears flatten and the corners of his mouth turn down. She snuggled him closer and gave him a finger for reassurance. “What’s he done so far?”

“Lifted a mudhorn. Held off a flamethrower.” A small click sounded from behind the helmet as he swallowed. “Choked a friend.”

“What provoked him on that last one?”

“We were just arm-wrestling. Wasn’t even that big of a deal.”

“Could you get him to stop?”

“Yes. He broke off as soon as I figured it out and told him to stop. But god… the look on his face…” Din realized his hands were fisted, and he forced them to open.

Rayne kept her gaze on the kid, careful to keep her expression neutral. Now she brought her free hand up to run a finger along the top of his ear. “There’s light and darkness in all of us. With Force-sensitive folks, there’s just… more of it. Life needs a balance of both. With too much light, there’s too much growth and it chokes on itself. Too much darkness leads to unnecessary suffering.”

“Sounds like sorcery and fairy tales.”

“I’m sure it does. Doesn’t make it any less true. Ever hear of the Sith?”

“No.”

“Ever hear of Darth Vader?”

“Some stories.”

“They’re probably true.”

Din shook his head, letting out a sigh. “A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Now?”

“I’ve seen enough.”

“Then believe me when I say that Vader was an agent of the Sith. He linked the Empire to the Dark Side for thirty years. Everything about the Empire was a reflection of it. All the cruelty, the fascism, the hate, the concentration of wealth and power. After the Purge, without the Jedi to balance it out… well… you saw what happened.”

“Were the Jedi any better?”

She shrugged. “Other side of the coin. The balance to the Force. Follow the light. Virtue. Charity. Honor. Kindness.”

Finally, Din lifted his gaze back to the kid. “How does that help me help him? He’s already seen a lot. He’s… seen me… do a lot.” How many times had the kid watched as he killed other people? Sure, they had all been bad, but… it wasn’t just the dozens he’d mowed down from a distance with high-powered automatic weaponry or sniped from afar with his rifle. It was also the dozens he’d blasted at short range or stabbed or strangled or flamed or dismembered with his own hands. No wonder the kid had Force-choked Cara. Din’s lessons had been clear: when confronted with a threat, kill it. “I’ve… set a poor example.”

Rayne couldn’t help but feel the conflict rolling off of him. He had used the full force of his skill set to protect the kid. And, as typical of the Mandalorians and bounty hunters in particular, his skill set was mostly one of violence, cunning, and death. The kid looked up at her from her arm, large round eyes brimming with tears, fully aware of Din’s turmoil on his behalf. The bond between them was solid; the kid clearly trusted him, but she could feel the gaps that still existed between what the kid needed and what Din had so far been able, or had known how, to provide. “You’ve kept him safe.”

“Mostly.” Din’s gaze had fallen back to his rifle.

“Babies need affection. They need to be talked to. They need to be played with.”

“I hold him when I can. I’ve been trying to teach him Mando’a. I give him the ball off the thruster lever when we’re in hyperspace.”

She could hear his voice crack under his realization of how short he had fallen, and felt horrible about what she had to say next. “You’ve had him for almost a year and haven’t even given him a name.”

“I call him _ad’ika_ sometimes.”

She couldn’t keep herself from rolling her eyes. “That’s just Mando’a for _kid_. You have to give him a name. A real one.”

“You’re right.”

He was silent for a long time, his chest rising and falling in shallow draws.

“Din. Look at me.”

The helmet raised in slow compliance.

“He needs you to be his father. He needs you to love him. Can you do that?”

The image of his own father rose unbidden in his mind. Looking down at him from the hatch, smoke rolling by before closing the blast doors. The concussion of the detonation immediately after. He tried to think back further, to before, but those memories were dull, thin, ephemeral in comparison, escaping his eye. He remembered that he had been happy at one point, knew on some level that his parents had provided that happiness, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what that had entailed. His upbringing by the Mandalorians had been altogether different – warmth and affection had been provided when necessary, but usually only on the conditions of his own successes, his own bravery. He wasn’t sure that was the model he wanted to work with. The only parent he’d ever really known was… of course. Omera. How she had been with Winta. Warm. Firm. Encouraging. Offering an arm of protection when Winta needed it. Letting her run free when it was safe. He didn’t know if he could do half as well with the kid as Omera did with Winta, but at least he had a playbook to follow.

“Din?”

“Yes,” He finally answered. “I think so.”

* * *

Evening settled over the hangar. The bots wrapped up their work for the day and headed to their charging stations. Rayne put in a call for a dinner delivery and got a small fire started in the yard while Din set up the chairs as they had been the previous evening. When the food arrived, Rayne and the kid gathered by the fire while Din took his up to the flight deck. Helmet off, he leaned against the edge of the port windscreen as he ate, watching as Rayne Force-lifted a chunk of meat off of the kid’s plate, hovered it by the kid’s mouth until he opened wide, and flicked it in. The kid gulped it down and laughed. She pointed at another chunk on his plate then pointed back at him, instructing him to try it himself. Indeed, he reached out a hand, lifted a piece, brought it to his face, then bumped himself in the nose with it. Din could hear both of them laugh as the sound drifted up the open ramp. “Try it again,” she said. “Just a little lower.” This time, the kid got it home, swallowed, and let out a celebratory belch. “Nice one,” Rayne congratulated. Din allowed himself a small laugh and continued his meal, thankful for his perch up on the flight deck allowing him to almost pretend like he was sharing the moment with them.

He joined them shortly, picking up their plates and placing them in the bin, then back to pick up the kid to hold him as he settled his weight into his seat.

“Can I get you a beer and a straw?” Rayne offered.

“Drinking beer out of a straw with a helmet looks ridiculous.”

“Dude, I just cleaned nuna sauce out of your son’s nose. You owe me some ridiculousness in return.”

Another laugh. “I just brushed my teeth.” His headache had also returned, but he felt no reason to elaborate on it.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll be right back.” She got up, ducked inside, and came back out with a bottle she opened with an opener bolted to the outside wall. Returning to her seat, she took a pull off of her drink, looking into the fire. “So, do you, like, make exceptions with the helmet rules for going to the dentist or anything?”

“Mandalorians are particular about preventative care.”

“Cavities?”

“We learn how to diagnose and treat them ourselves.”

She turned to face him. “You have to drill and fill your own cavities.”

“Yes.”

She whistled and shook her head, returning her gaze to the fire. “That’s nuts.”

“I’ve only had to do it once. Children get their wisdom teeth pulled before they swear the Creed.”

“Stuff like that makes me glad I didn’t make it to become a Jedi.”

“Oh?”

“Rules that make things unnecessarily difficult rub me the wrong way. Life is hard enough as it is.”

“Restrictive practices are necessary to establish an identity.”

“Banthashit. You want cultural identity? Fine. Make up some rituals. Secret handshake. Rites of passage. I get all that. But giving up your own personhood? Your own identity? Forget it.”

“You would make a horrible soldier.”

She turned to smile at the dryness of his tone. “Thank you. My point still stands. You can’t even share a meal with your own kid.”

“The extremity of what you give up demonstrates the extremity of your dedication.”

This time she turned her chair to face him. “And what, exactly, is the extremity of the benefit for you?”

“The Mandalorians rescued me. They fought off the droid attack on my village. They took me in. They gave me a life.”

Rayne paused, eyes narrowing. “Which faction?”

“Death Watch.”

_Oh, shit_. The pieces of a horrible puzzle clicked together in the front of her mind. She knew full well that Death Watch had been led by Darth Maul at one point. This guy was clueless about the Sith despite the fact that his own faction had been led by one. He also seemed oblivious of their practice of staging attacks just so they could swoop in and “save the day” to gain favor. Before her sat a zealot of a religious sect that was quite possibly responsible for the death of his own family.

He hadn’t been adopted. He’d been _kidnapped_.

And he had no idea.

He was also the adoptive father of quite possibly the greatest wielder of the Force since Grand Master Yoda and would raise him as a Mandalorian if he couldn’t find his people.

Oh, great blazing Tatooine, this was all manner of fucked up.

The kid stirred uneasily in Din’s arm and she realized just how carefully she had to tread. She could not bring an existential crisis down on this guy. Not right now, anyway. And, dammit, despite everything, she kinda _liked_ him. He was honestly trying to do the right thing, and had clearly been fighting an uphill battle for a long time in doing so.

She pressed forward, her decision made. “So this is all just payback for your rescue? You’ve paid that debt for how long?”

He shrugged. “Thirty-five years or so.”

“How much longer do you owe them?”

He had no answer for that.

“You understand what cognitive dissonance is, right?”

He said nothing, but betrayed himself with a small tick of his head to the side.

“We don’t like it when our thoughts and our actions don’t line up. When that happens, we either change the thought or the action so they do line up – whichever is easiest. Actions are harder to take back, especially if lots of people saw it, so we usually change the thought instead. Say we want to be part of a group, but the membership fee is super high. You think it’s gotta be worth it, right? No one would pay a bunch of credits for something that wasn’t worth it. They’ve all done it. They all seem fine. They wouldn’t sell you out for nothing, right? So you do it. You cough up a bunch of dough, maybe do a little ceremony, and now you’re part of the club.

“And then a year later, five years, whatever, someone asks you if it’s worth it. And your brain sure as shit isn’t gonna say ‘no’ because that means you’ve made an enormous mistake. You can’t take the action back – they literally toss you out on your ass. So you change the thought. You make yourself believe it’s worth it. Not because it really is, but because the alternative is unthinkable. The more you’ve paid, the more unthinkable it is that you’ve made a mistake.”

Din remained silent. Pondering the price of Mandalorian life. His identity hidden. Showing his face to no one until he decided to hang it all up or someone hung it up for him. Not even being able to go out for a beer or eat in public. What had he gotten in return?

He could defend himself, when most others couldn’t. He had his own ship. He had… and then he realized he was doing exactly what she described.

When he still had no reply, she did her best to smooth things over. “Look, you’re free to practice your religion however you want as long as you’re not violating someone else’s rights. All I’m saying is that maybe you should stop and re-evaluate every now and then. Religions reform themselves all the time.”

Din’s head swam. He was used to dealing with others who had not sworn to any sort of creed or faith. He was not used to someone taking such a casual swing at the foundation of his life and striking a crack in it. Particularly one who was so obviously good at what she did and managed to be successful in a world that was falling apart around her. “How do you do it?” He was surprised by the roughness of his own voice.

“Do what?”

“Live without a creed? Figure out what the right thing is? Have all this…” he lifted his chin, indicating the entirety of the hangar, “without…”

“You mean how do I make an honest living without clan support?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll admit that being Force-sensitive gives me an unfair advantage. Beyond that… I made a decision early on that I would do what I could to make the galaxy a better place. Sometimes that meant breaking rules. Sometimes it meant making up my own. You agreed to a few of those just to park your boat here. I don’t work for Imps. I don’t work for slave traffickers. Anyone gives me a weird vibe, I tell them the schedule’s full and send them on their way.”

“Ever have to kill anyone?”

She had turned back to face the fire. She took a long swallow from the bottle in her hand, took a breath, and let it out in a slow exhale. “Most go away without too much trouble. Some need more of a push.” She brought her fingers to her head and made a flicking motion, something Din took to mean as use of the Force on someone’s mind. “There might be a body or three that got fed to the wolves out in the desert who had their docking records disappear and their ships stripped for parts, but that’s between you, me, and the kid.”

“So if you _had_ found Senator Organa’s head in my ship…”

“I’d have put your Amban through your throat. Then your kid would’ve choked me to death, and we’d be one hell of a mess out here.”

Din had to laugh at the insanity of it all. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Rayne only laughed in return, not bothering to correct him on his use of “we” as he had done to her the evening before.

This just might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Rayne's spiel about droids reflecting their creators the day before The Reckoning aired and Had A Moment when Kuiil went and pretty much said the same thing. I decided to keep it and have it as a point of reinforcement for Din. Great minds, etc.
> 
> The possibility of Death Watch being the ones responsible for the raid on Din's childhood village is not my idea, but a general fan theory being floated about. I really hope they cover this in Season 2 because HOLY SHIT, but my brain is too impatient, so I'll work it over here, too.


	3. The Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Din and Rayne deserve a little happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here come the R-rated bits.

_I am not your señorita  
I am not from your tribe  
If you want inside her well  
Boy you better make her raspberry swirl_

Tori Amos, [Raspberry Swirl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0O2-xV5XEA)

* * *

The morning sun crept over the hangar wall as Din approached the edge of the yard, jetpack in hand. He adjusted his cloak before swinging the pack over his head and sliding it into place over the armor on his back.

He stood still and closed his eyes, re-centering his balance, focusing his thoughts.

The sounds of morning were subdued, but plentiful. He heard the turn of a ratchet as Rayne opened an engine panel at the top of the Razor Crest. He heard the bleeps and blurbs of the bots as they shuttled to and fro, bringing her what she needed. He heard the soft snores of the kid as he lay napping in his crate under the belly of the ship, safely out of the way of anything Rayne might drop from the roof or anything Din himself might do in the coming moments.

His first flight on Nevarro against Gideon and the TIE fighter had been just good enough to not get himself killed, and that was about all that could be said of it. His second flight from the lava river back to the Razor Crest had been more controlled, but not altogether good. He needed more confidence with it, to learn to operate it properly. The hangar wasn’t ideal; he would’ve preferred a wide-open space, but Rayne hadn’t yet had a chance to work on their personal fob-scramblers, so he and the kid were still restricted to the hangar or the ship. The lattice protecting the hangar formed a ceiling of about 50 meters. At the very least, it would force him to stick with low-altitude practice to start.

He tapped the ignition button on his vambrace and the jetpack fired up, jerking against his shoulders first, then settling into a steady rumble. Eyes still closed, he recalled his boyhood lessons in the Rising Phoenix, early training with stripped-down jetpacks that were far less powerful and temperamental than the real thing, never getting more than three meters off the ground, but enough to get a feel for how to lift off, hover, and land on your feet instead of your head. He had proven to be far better with a rifle than a jetpack in those days, so his later training had focused on that instead, but he still remembered the basics.

Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes, he lifted off, gently, not the 100-meter straight-up shot of before. He paused at ten meters of altitude, rotated in a slow spin, then brought his hands up to initiate a forward glide. It started reasonably well, but just when he thought he had it, he shot forward, smashed into the blunted bow of the Razor Crest, then fell face-first to the ground as the jets cut out.

Rayne had been walking along the top of the port engine when the sound of Din’s collision startled her off her feet and sent her sliding butt-first down the curve of the cowling to the top of the hull. Not liking the sound of what she’d heard, she slid down the rail of the service ladder to the ground and ran to where Din lay prone, skidding to a halt beside him. “Din! Hey! You ok?”

A low groan escaped the modulator as he pulled his hands in and pushed himself over and up into a sitting position, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around his shins, head hanging. “Give me a minute.” His voice was thin.

His head pounded.

He couldn’t fill his lungs.

The ground swam before him.

His stomach lurched.

_Uh oh_ …

Just before he could tell her to turn away so he could take the helmet off ahead of his breakfast ending up in it, he felt tiny hands press into his ribs, and the nausea fled as quickly as it had come. His chest heaved as he finally was able to pull some air in.

He turned to see the kid standing next to him, smiling, ears up and alert.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, dropping an arm to put it around him.

Rayne took a knee before them. “What’s up, guys?”

“Just rung my own bell.” The kid snorted as if to say, _You did more than that, pal_. “He put me back on an even keel. Usually that kind of thing wears him out.”

“He’s getting stronger. That’s good.” She stood up and offered him a hand. He took it, and she helped him up. Walking out to the yard a little further, she turned back and looked up to the bow of the Razor Crest, amber shades reflecting the sun. “Doesn’t look like you did any harm to your ship.” She looked back at Din and smiled. “You do know I’ll have to charge you extra for any damage you cause here that I’ll have to fix, right?”

“I understand,” his tone was light as he walked back out.

* * *

The rest of the day was uneventful. Rayne wrapped up the hyperdrive repairs, the kid swallowed three frogs and a wrench, and Din’s jetpack practice improved. Rayne couldn’t resist a bit of light teasing by the end of the afternoon. “Fledgling status will not excuse any broken windows.”

“Yeah?” Din shot back. “You handle a sword like a giant ten-year-old.”

“Because my training stopped when I was ten years old.”

They took the sparring sabers out again, but more for instruction, this time. He taught her a few new moves, the same ones an old friend had taught him ages ago, tricks for smaller people fighting larger ones. She was still somewhat off-balanced and clumsy, but improved despite it. She showed him how to get more power out of his swings without over-committing. They practiced, more of a dialogue, the ring of steel-on-steel coming in short, rhythmic bursts.

The kid watched them from his crate, fascinated by the choreography before him, Mythosaur pendant half-in his mouth, the silhouette of his father moving fluidly with that of his new friend against the setting sun. His father was a mix of skill and power, efficient movements graced by the billow of the cloak about his shoulders, armor glinting in the slanting light. The friend was raw power and speed, lean limbs still clad in the form-fitting clothes designed not to catch on moving parts, occasionally stumbling, but never tiring, matching his father strike for strike.

For the first time the kid could ever recall, his father was happy.

The kid decided he liked his father’s new friend. She was strong like Cara, kind like Kuiil. She let him eat frogs and gave him a huge, shiny ball. She had openly accepted his effort to heal her. Encouraged it, even. She played with him like no one else had in a long, long, time, lifting without her hands and smiling at him, like it was their own secret to share.

He wanted to stay here with her. But they never seemed to stay anywhere for very long. If they couldn’t stay, he wanted her to come with them. They brought people with them, sometimes.

Maybe they could keep this one.

* * *

Dinner was again delivered and consumed, and conversation turned towards the kid’s future.

“The Jedi wouldn’t be the right place for him, anyway,” Rayne said.

“No?”

They were sitting around the fire. Din with his back to the Razor Crest, facing the hangar’s exit, the kid on his left, Rayne to his right. Rayne and the kid were playing with the bearing again, tossing it back and forth, catching it not with their hands, but with the Force. Rayne held it aloft for a moment, making it rise and fall. “Extremist practices. They forced people who would otherwise have made good Jedi to the Dark Side.”

“Like what?”

“All the girls were sterilized.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Sith rape just as much as anyone else, so it was a preventative measure. Still.” She paused for a moment, gazing at the bearing, then continued. “Zero-tolerance policy for intimacy. No sex. Nothing beyond platonic relationships. It was stupid. The Force _burns_. You’re supposed to direct all that energy into becoming more skilled, becoming a better warrior. It’s banthashit. Sometimes you just need to connect with someone. Get inside their head. Let them get inside yours. The worst of the Sith were picked off because they were lonely.”

“You know a lot about this for someone who’s not a Jedi.”

She cast her eyes in his direction, then focused once more on the bearing before tossing it to the kid. “I had some early training before the Republic fell. Went to ground once Order 66 went out.”

“How old were you the year of the fall?”

“Ten.”

A bitter laugh barked out of him. “We’re the same age. You look good for forty-four.”

Rayne smiled. “So do you. The beskar takes at least ten years off.”

He tilted his helmet to the side. “Makes for an even complexion, anyway.”

“You could be a Tusken under all that and have a lifespan of two hundred years for all I know.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m human. Same as you.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Rayne felt him hold her gaze through the visor. She reciprocated, waiting. After a few moments, still facing her, he pulled at the tips of the fingers of his right glove with his left hand, taking it off to reveal a perfectly normal-looking human hand. Olive skin that would be bronze if it ever saw any sun. Long fingers, nails neatly filed to the quick. After a few moments, he put the glove back on.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re welcome. Something about making connections.” He made a show of turning his head all the way to his left, all the way to his right, then back to her. “I’m curious how that worked out for you.” His tone made it clear that he had observed the lack of anyone else around the hangar.

She leaned back in her chair and caught the bearing as the kid threw it to her without taking her gaze off of Din. “Fair question. I was married for ten years. He was a good man. Died in an Imperial attack five years ago, at the end of the war. I had a few before, had a couple since. Just because they didn’t last doesn’t mean I didn’t gain anything from them. I’m still friends with the ones who aren’t dead. I wouldn’t give them up for the world. Each one of them gave me experiences I wouldn’t otherwise have had. Each one of them taught me something about myself. Each one of them gave me moments of joy. Learning how relationships evolve is a good skill. Denying your own feelings gets you nowhere and only leaves you bitter. That’s where the Jedi got it wrong. Not getting laid leads to a heaping pile of bitterness. Bitterness leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. And that, my shiny friend, leads to the Dark Side.” She threw the bearing to Din, this time. “So. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any connections get made past that helmet?”

He took a deep breath, thoughts of Omera way too close to the surface for his liking. But Rayne had been frank with her answer, and she deserved his answer in kind. “We’re not celibate. The helmet stays on. It can only come off if it’s completely dark. No attachments outside of clan membership, if you choose to be part of one.”

“I’m curious how that’s worked out for you.”

Another deep breath. “That’s also a fair question.”

“And?”

_God, she isn’t going to let me get out of this._ He looked down at the bearing in his hands. “The Mandalorians brought me in as a foundling and raised me in the Fighting Corps. I couldn’t fit with any of the existing clans and wasn’t looking to start my own. I gave any extra money I had to the foundlings at whatever covert I was based out of at the time. The Armorer – the leader of the covert on Nevarro…” he paused, shoving the horrors of the slaughtered remains down in his mind so he could get through this. “She declared me and the kid a clan of two last week.” He shrugged his right shoulder, seeming to indicate the mudhorn signet on the pauldron there. “As far as the other stuff goes, I can’t give you a number. It’s… not in my nature to count. Longest I’ve had since leaving the covert I grew up at was maybe a couple years. That got a little crazy and I had to move on. Last one was about a year and a half ago. I passed up an opportunity nine months ago. I’m… not sure I did the right thing, there.”

“What happened?” Rayne asked.

“Didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish.”

“Got too attached.”

“Yes.”

“Her or you?” Din’s silence stretched longer than she expected, so again, she decided to make it easy on him. “Both.”

“Yes.”

“And with the bounty hunters after you…”

“It was unsafe to stay.”

She nodded. “Tough situation. Sorry to hear it.”

“Thank you.” Again, his voice cracked through the modulator, confirming the sorrow that he couldn’t help but radiate.

“So what will you do next time?” she asked.

“Next time?”

_God, he’s going to make me do all the work here._ “Next time you have the opportunity to make a connection.”

“It… depends.”

“Assume the other party understands the conditions. Mandatory helmet. No strings attached. Bounty hunters not at the doorstep for the moment.”

Like… right… now…

He finally realized what she was offering. Finally realized what had been sitting in the pit of his stomach since yesterday’s test flight. Maybe even since the start, when he’d seen how well the kid had taken to her so quickly.

But… Omera… oh, god he’d come so close with Omera. Had almost let her lift the helmet from his head. Had almost… But he knew that would have been an attachment he could not have borne to break. He deserved the knot that formed in his gut when he thought of her. He deserved it for letting his discipline slip. For letting her in. Knowing that she had made the same mistake of him only made it worse. The best he could do was console himself with the knowledge that she was safer with him and the kid far away. The best way to keep her safe was to keep his distance. 

As far as Xi’an… well… she had clearly been a mistake. A remnant from a darker part of his life. A history he had worked so hard to claw his way out of. Only she had _liked_ him that way. Ruthless. Brutal. Murdering. She had validated that part of him. When you were so _good_ at killing, it was easy to start to like it. Until one day you find yourself in a room full of corpses you created and the woman you’ve been sleeping with walks in and thinks it’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen in her life and you realize that maybe this is kinda fucked up and you want out.

He had turned that corner, good and hard. Had proved it to himself when he didn’t kill her when he had the chance, even if she probably deserved it.

_I won’t make those mistakes again. I won’t._

Not for this woman. It didn’t matter that the kid got along with her so well. It didn’t matter that the ship responded to her touch in ways it never had for him. It didn’t matter that she could bring him to the ground with a sword. It didn’t matter that she was somehow able to meet his gaze through the helmet with her eyes every time she looked at him.

Those eyes. The steely blue of freshly-polished beskar. Pinning his own when everyone else looked a little too far to the left or the right, missing the mark just a bit.

Goddammit.

Rayne lacked Omera’s beauty. Where Omera’s toughness was graceful, Rayne was all utilitarian wire and sometimes even a little clumsy. Omera was rooted to her home, where Rayne drifted to safety. Omera had her community, where Rayne made due with a string of companions and the robots she’d built with her bare hands. Omera provided for the kid, where Rayne had him hunting frogs and developing his Force skills. Both were pragmatic in their own ways. But he had to admit that Rayne was sharp. She cut directly to the heart of an issue and dissected it with a surgeon’s skill, pointed out the problem with the tip of the scalpel.

And she read him like a goddamn book.

He might as well just stand naked before her.

_That can be arranged._

_Goddammit._

He realized he still hadn’t answered her question when the silence was broken by a gurgle from the kid, hands outstretched, waiting for Din to toss the bearing. He’d been playing in the dirt for three days now, and it was starting to collect in the creases at the top of his head and in his ears.

“Can I… do you… can I give him a bath?” _Yes. That’s my answer to the offer of intimacy. I need to give my kid a bath._

Rayne simply lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Sure. He’ll fit in the dishtub in the kitchen. Come on in.”

Din heaved a sigh, heaved himself out of his chair, put the kid in his crate, and followed her through the door to the shop. They went in a short distance before turning through another door that opened to her residence as she flipped the light on. They entered a small, tidy kitchen, which was separated from a cozy living/bedroom area by a small peninsula counter. The lighting struck a warm hue against the adobe walls, but the open windows were arranged to maximize a cool breeze. Rayne pulled a plastic tub from the cabinet and placed it in the sink. “I’ll let you get the right water temperature for him. I’m gonna’ go take a shower – I can wash his clothes and blankets with my stuff.”

“Yes, please.” Din placed the kid in the tub, took his gloves off, stuffed them in his belt, and made a lifting motion with his hands. The kid raised his arms in response, huge dark eyes gazing up at the visor, smiling as Din undid the fastening of his robe and lifted it off of his arms.

A mythosaur pendant hung on a leather string from the kid’s shoulders. Suspicions confirmed, Rayne did her best to suppress a frown.

Mandalorian Jedis were a mixed bag, at best.

Din handed the kid’s robe to her along with the blankets. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She handed him a clean towel to dry the kid off with and headed to the shower.

When she came back out, she found them sitting on the bed, the kid wrapped in the towel, lying on his back on Din’s thighs as Din dried his ears, lids drooping over his eyes. She handed the robe back to Din, fresh out of the clothes unit, and placed the blankets in the crate. “Looks like he’s ready for bed.”

“Yes, he is.” The sight of a fully armored Mandalorian hunched over and wrestling a tiny, green, sleepy baby back into his clothes was almost too much, but she managed to stifle the laugh. When he was done, he lifted the kid back to the crate and wrapped him in the blanket. Only then did he stand up and face her. “It seems I’m the only dirty one left. Do you mind if I…”

She smiled. “Mine’s a lot bigger than yours. Go ahead.”

His head dropped in thanks. “I need a few things out of the ship. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

He returned a few minutes later with his kit and she showed him where the towels and clothes unit were. “Hair dryer is under the sink.”

“Thank you.”

She left him to it.

Feeling reasonably secure about the lock on the door, he lifted the helmet from his head, placed it on the floor, and stacked the armor next to it. Peeling all of the layers off, he stuffed his cloak and clothes in the unit to get clean. Stepping into the shower, he relished the feel of warm water running through his hair and over his shoulders. He stood still for a moment, taking some mental space to relax, to be out of the armor and yet still feel safe, very much aware of the fob scrambler somewhere overhead keeping him that way.

He was unused to the idea of someone else protecting him.

Someone who wasn’t even really a soldier. Nor a Mandalorian.

If anything, an ancestral enemy.

Things were simple with Mandalorian women when neither of you were part of a clan. Everyone knew the rules. No attachments. If you wanted the lights on, helmets stayed on. If you wanted the helmets off, lights stayed off. You didn’t get many chances, so when you got one, you made it good. Good sex was like good fighting – it required training, but you were also encouraged to develop your own style. Din had both. Contraception depended on what kind of work the woman was up to and what she wanted. With Mandalorian numbers so low, pregnancy was revered. Pregnant women worked until they no longer could, then they went back to the covert and were properly cared for. Obstetric science among the Mandalorians rivaled even their trauma medicine. Mandalorian doctors boasted the lowest maternal and neonatal fatality rates for all of the species that were represented among the ranks. Women brought forth their children. After, they nursed, if they were mammalian. They recovered. They received more training. They trained the younglings. The stories Din heard from mothers returned when he was a child still rang with great clarity in his memory. How to extricate yourself from a bar fight. How to negotiate with mechanics. How to clear the mud from your rifle. How to gut a Taun Taun without making it smell like ten-year-old garbage. And then, when the child was weaned, the women returned to the field. The children were either adopted by a clan or raised by the men and women of the Fighting Corps who were suited best for the task, who knew how to prepare them for the harsh world that awaited them. They were the true parents. Mothers who were not part of a clan were told nothing of their children; the same went for clan-less fathers. Contributing to the enclave was good. But it was best not to know the specifics. To hear about the fall of a fellow Mandalorian was bad enough. To know they were your own blood would be devastating. As bad as the carnage at the covert at Nevarro had been, he considered himself lucky that he had not been there long enough to form much in the way of friendships. Further proof of the point.

And so, intimacy with Mandalorian women, such as it was, was easy enough. Physically satisfying. Often fun. Usually safe. Never any strings attached.

But with anyone else...

In most ways, it was easier for the women. The only trick lay in finding anyone who was any good at it and didn’t expect anything after. Pregnancy was celebrated. It brought in fresh blood and the children were always cared for. But for the men… for the men who preferred women, anyway… the universe had enough orphans. Making more was unconscionable. You wrapped it up. Every time. You made it abundantly clear that there would be no attachments, that you would eventually move on and never see each other again.

And you didn’t take chances with the lights. You kept your fucking helmet on.

And so, with anyone else, things were… difficult. He’d only chanced it with two. The first was looking for nothing more than one night, ravenous, and seemed to have a kink for armor, so the results had been satisfactory, if even a little humorous. Xi’an was hot in that scary kind of way, back when he liked being scared because it meant he wasn’t dead. The woman just on the other side of the door right now… definitely wasn’t a fan of the armor, but had a healthy appetite and would be happy to have him for whatever time she could. She was good with a blade, but she wasn’t a psycho about it. She was more than capable of taking care of herself and was comfortable with her independence. He had to admit to himself that he had a certain weakness for women who were capable of killing him, and he had no doubt that Rayne had it in her.

Being in close quarters with an enemy sorcerer would be a unique challenge. Given what he had seen, given what he had heard, she didn’t need weapons to kill him. Hell, she didn’t even need her hands.

_She could kill him with her mind._

He wasn’t sure he knew what was normal, anymore. He wasn’t sure he had ever known what was normal. All he knew was that he wouldn’t last more than a minute with her if he didn’t take pre-emptive action.

He took himself in hand and resolved the issue.

Head cleared, body clean, he stepped out of the shower and dried off, then flossed and brushed his teeth while he was naked, just because he could. The tile on the floor felt blessedly cool under his feet, and the draft of ventilation pricked goosebumps on his skin. Having the opportunity to shave, he took it. He fished out the hairdryer and blew his hair dry, enjoying the warm air on the back of his neck _. I gotta’ get one of these._ When everything was done, he packed up his kit, hung it on the knob, and regarded himself in the mirror once more. _Remember who you are. Remember who you are not. This is the Way._

_And keep your fucking helmet on._

* * *

He stepped through the door, anxiety radiating off of him in waves. That peculiar mix of anticipation, fear, and, despite his recent release, the desire for more. “Thank you. I feel… better.”

“You’re welcome.” She stepped closer, gauging his reaction as she did so. His balance shifted more to anticipation, but his fear caught up with it again. She was still for a moment, noting the rise and fall of his chest, fists clenched at his side. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to ask. Once again, she would have to make this easy for him. “Would you like some company tonight?”

“I would.”

The surge of anxiety almost knocked her over. “Your place or mine?”

“I’d be more comfortable on the ship.”

“I understand.”

He turned to the kid’s crate and froze. “He likes to nap on the flight deck sometimes, but he doesn’t always stay there. I don’t…” Again, another wave of anxiety, complete inability to move his thoughts forward.

“He’ll sleep through it. Two hours of playing Force-catch should have worn him out.” Din visibly relaxed. Not much, but a little. “And just so you know…” she reached out and traced the plate at his wrist. “People who are Force-sensitive… within a short range, we can tell when… the Force responds to orgasm.”

A small choking sound clicked over the modulator. “I needed to clear my head.”

She smiled. “Did it work?”

“Clearly not.” He looked back towards the kid. “What’s the range?”

“For me? I’m guessing twenty-five meters or so. For him? Probably more. Definitely longer than the length of the Razor Crest’s hull. Having the helmet on probably cuts it down some.” She prodded his arm to get him to turn his head back to her. “We grow up with it. It’s part of life. We take it for granted and are surprised when we discover that no one else feels it. When we’re little we don’t even know what causes it. Like hearing birds chirp or when someone gives you a blanket when you’re cold. It… just feels nice. It’s nothing to feel creeped out over. If anything, it probably helps him sleep better. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He took her hands in his, then looked down, acknowledging this first time of reaching out to touch her. “The helmet stays on. I know that’ll be tough for you, but that’s how it has to be.”

“I understand.”

“And when I leave, you won’t ever hear from me again.”

“I know.”

“This is the Way.”

“Okay.”

She followed him out to his ship, Din carrying his kit, the kid floating next to him in the crate, soft snores coming from under the blankets. They walked up the rear ramp and she hit the button to close it when she reached the hold as Din continued on to the flight deck. He placed the crate on the starboard jump-seat, tucked the kid in one more time, laid a finger on his forehead, and wished him goodnight. He stepped out, closed the door to the flight deck, and came down to the hold.

He sat back on one of the lower rungs of the ladder to take his boots off, noticing as she turned to the bunk. It was really small in there.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

“Hm? No. I’m just… a little claustrophobic.” Her gaze lingered on the bunk for a moment more before coming back to his. “I’ll make it work.”

He titled his head. _You sure?_

She took a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Ok.” He stepped forward and took her hands in his.

She could feel him trembling through the gloves. Looking him up and down, she realized that undressing a Mandalorian was going to be a complex task. And he probably wasn’t going to be entirely comfortable with it. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to shed all the layers first with him still in full gear. She released his grip and ran her hands along his forearms. “Can we start with the armor?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I should do the vambraces.” Indeed, taking them off looked like an intricate procedure, unlocking the clips under his forearms without setting off the weaponry along the top. Once they were off, he pulled a drawer open and placed them inside. He also un-holstered his sidearm blaster and undid the utility belt, placing them in the same drawer, then turned back to her. “You can do the rest.” His voice was tight over the modulator.

She slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders, slid her right hand across his chest to the pauldron on his left shoulder, and realized she was completely flummoxed as to how to remove it. He permitted himself a soft laugh and showed her how to do it, then allowed her to do the one on the right herself. They did the same for his thigh guards, him showing her how for the left, her doing the right. He guided her hands to his sides to unclip the fastenings for the chest and backplates, the cloak coming off with them. The last items to go in the drawer were his gloves.

He stood before her in nothing but a helmet, black shirt, and black pants. Aside from the helmet, he could have been a normal person.

Now, finally, she had a better idea of his actual size. Just a shade under two meters. A surprisingly moderate build, but with broad shoulders, chest tapering to his hips.

“Your turn,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re not done with you yet.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“Fair enough.” She didn’t have much to take off. She’d come out in the clothes she normally slept in; just a loose sand-colored shirt and black leggings, plus the pair of sandals on her feet. Her hands dropped to the bottom hem of her shirt, and he followed suit. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes never left his visor as she pulled her shirt off over her head and he did the same with his, the hole at the top of his shirt just big enough to get the helmet through. They stood before each other, both naked from the waist up, regarding each other.

His build may have been moderate, but what he had was all business. Lean muscle through his shoulders, arms, chest, and abs, made all the more defined by his olive skin. Several scars marked him where the armor hadn’t reached; high on his left arm, low across the ribs on his right side, a fresh one on the inside of his right shoulder. His left shoulder was a little higher than his right, the sign of a collarbone broken long ago. Her build was moderate as well. Not much curve, but strong. Athletic. Her skin was fair but tanned reasonably well in the sun, leaving her a few shades lighter than him. She took a slow spin around, giving him a good view of her back, a tattoo of the Rebel Alliance Starbird sigil on her left shoulder. What looked like a scar from a blaster bolt graze ran from the top of her left shoulder blade to the top of the muscle. He reciprocated, revealing another scar just below his right shoulder blade, the muscles in his back forming a valley to his spine.

“Like what you see so far?” She asked.

“I do. You?”

“I do.” She stepped closer to him, just within arm’s reach, and she had to look up to the visor. “May I touch you?”

“… Yes.”

Even now, he was still hesitant. She reached up and ran her hands along his collarbones, noting the asymmetry, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He drew a sharp breath at the feel of her fingers along his skin. Her hands were an odd mix of calluses and softness by way of turning wrenches and submersion in engine grease on a daily basis. When she reached his throat, she slid her hands up as far as she could go, catching just a bit of hair at the back of his neck, below the helmet. She slid her hands down his ribs, smiling when he winced in a ticklish flinch, and rested her hands at the top of his pants. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Yes.”

He brought his hands to her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones, then pushed his fingertips through her hair, up through the short chestnut curls. “My hair is dark,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s too long right now… longer than yours. It’s getting a little gray around the temples.” He ran his thumbs along her eyebrows, pausing at the outside corners of her eyes. “My eyes are brown. They’re deep-set like yours. I have the same lines under them at the corners.” His fingertips spread along the backs of her jaws. “I have high cheekbones, but my face is rounder. My nose is arched. I… actually have kind of a big mouth.” She raised an eyebrow in response. He laughed. “I know, right? I’ve managed to keep all my teeth, and they’re in decent shape.” He dropped his hands to her shoulders, noting the thrumming tension there. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“What are your eyebrows like?”

“Normal, I guess. Unremarkable. Two lines between them, right here.” He slid his thumbs through the same place on her.

“Facial hair?”

“Just shaved.”

She smiled. “That covers all the bases. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He resisted the urge to press his head to hers, the traditional Mandalorian prelude to intimacy when wearing a helmet, heeding her discomfort with the armor. Instead, he brought a finger to her mouth, laying its length between her lips. Taking his meaning, she kissed it. Gently at first, then she took his hand in both of hers and pressed harder, taking it between her teeth, pressing her tongue around it. His other hand slid from her shoulder down her back, flattening against the end of her spine and pressing her hips to his. She kissed all of the knuckles of his hand, blind to the small nicks and scars, eyes closed, listening as the rhythm of his breath picked up. When his hand was thoroughly wet, he pulled it away from her mouth, trailed it down her chin, her throat, sternum, her belly, and slipped the tip of a finger into her navel.

The rest of their clothing fell away and he guided her to his bed.

He opened a drawer in the bulkhead and extracted a small, wrapped package.

“So that Jedi sterilization thing…” her words trailed off.

He nodded. “I wondered.”

“Another perk about being Force-sensitive is that I don’t contract or transmit diseases. So if your supply is limited...”

_I’m too naked as it is._ Maybe they could unpack all that later, but for the moment, Mandalorian training for protection in all things outweighed the human desire for direct contact. Otherwise completely flummoxed, he fell back on the old mantra. “This is the Way.”

“Ok.”

The immediacy of her acceptance encouraged him.

They lay together, hands running over bare skin, both of them taught muscle and sinew over bone, acquainting themselves with each other with desperate intensity. She pressed one hand against the helmet, pushing his head away even as she gripped his flesh with the other, her meaning clear. _Don’t touch me with the metal._ Instead, he once more brought a finger to her lips, she once more wet it, and he made her ready.

He was patient, unhurried, disciplined, secretly enjoying the power he seemed to have over the enemy sorcerer as she became undone before him. Finally, she brought her lips to the space between his shoulder and his neck, whispering the word “Please,” over and over.

They joined. They moved. They breathed. She warned him that things with a Force-sensitive partner might be different. He accepted. And so he was ready for it when the tell-tale moan parted her lips, ready when _something_ gripped his spine in rhythmic pulses matching those that gripped the flesh he had sunk into her. His own release came shortly after, and once again she felt the warmth of it bloom in her mind as he shuddered against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you…”

He was always so polite.

After, she turned around to spoon back into him, tolerating the press of his helmet against the back of her head, the wash of his mind over hers worth the price of the beskar against her skull. For a short time, he was at peace, too destroyed to think much about anything, and she was content to enjoy the warmth of his body around her. It wasn’t long until she noticed a change in his breathing, a cloud of sadness gathering within him. Continued regret at the lost opportunity from months ago. Fresh wounds from the carnage at the covert at Nevarro. She brought his hand to her lips, again kissing the length of his finger. Without thinking, she reached out with her mind to soothe his.

“Stop.” His response was immediate, followed with a rush of anger. “Get out of my head. Let me feel what I’m supposed to feel.”

She let go of his mind, shocked at the rage in his voice, but she gripped his hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a reflex.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry. I… wanted to help.”

She felt him take a deep breath behind her, his lungs filling against her back. “Then just talk to me. With words.”

The irony of _him_ asking her to talk was not lost on her, but she let it slide. He needed this. “It’s ok to feel this way. It’s ok to think about her. It’s ok to miss her. It’s ok to mourn the others. There’s enough room for all of us in here.”

The anger was replaced with a sudden rush of gratitude and he held her tight against him. She held his hand to her face and kissed along his thumb as the sorrow returned and he wept, shaking and silent.

After a short time, he noticed that his hand was wet from her tears, and he belatedly realized he’d projected a year’s worth of angst at her after refusing to let her calm him down. “God, that was selfish of me. You were just protecting yourself. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” She snuggled into him. “I can block it when I have to.”

“Do you think the kid got any of that?”

“Oh he got every bit of it.”

“Dammit.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than you think. It’s easier when it comes from a good place.”

Din gave a shaky sigh and sat up. “Might be a good idea to get dressed. He crawls in here with me sometimes. And after that…”

“Yeah. Is there enough room in here for all of us?”

He turned his head in her direction and let out an exhale that was probably a laugh. “Yes.” He scooped up his clothes. “I’ll be right back. Inside of my helmet got wet, somehow.”

She smiled and dressed while he locked himself in the other room to dry things out.

When he returned, he crawled back in and lay facing her in the dim light, letting her take his hand in hers. They were still as she stared into the visor. She smiled after several minutes. “I don’t know what’s creepier for you – having me stare at you with your eyes closed back there or your eyes open. Which one have I been doing?”

He gave a small laugh to let her know he was smiling. “They’re open. No more creepy than for you not knowing if I’ve been staring back.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and bit his finger with a gentle nip.

“May I ask a question?” His voice was low over the modulator.

“Yes.”

“The sterilization thing.”

“Yes.” Her smile disappeared, but she still held his hand and his gaze.

“How old were you?”

“Six, I think.”

“Did they give you a choice?” His voice cracked.

“I don’t remember being given one.”

“Your parents allowed this?”

“I don’t remember my parents. The Jedi recruited us as soon as possible. I’m told I was picked up after I started throwing spoons with my brain when I was six months old.”

Din’s mind was reeling. “So you were on your own when the Republic fell.”

“Yes.”

“When you were ten.”

“Yes.”

“You were a foundling.” His voice cracked again and he felt something tighten in his chest.

“No. I was on my own. No one ever found me.”

Again, she heard the faint sound of his teeth clicking shut, and he tightened his hand around hers. “ _I_ found you.” _Oh god, what am I doing?_

She kept her expression neutral. _What the hell does he think he’s doing?_ “I guess you did.”

They both jumped when a small squeak emitted from the foot of the bunk and a tiny green hand reached up. Din sat up and pulled the kid into bed with them. “How do you keep sneaking up on me like that?”

“I didn’t even hear the door from the flight deck open,” Rayne said.

“I always find it still closed when he does this. It’s like he phases through the bulkheads.”

The kid laughed in what Rayne swore was with a mischievous tone, crawling up between the two of them before plonking himself down, pulling his blanket up around his chin, and closing his eyes with a smile on his face. Din tucked the blanket around him, forming a tight little bundle. “Time for bed, I guess.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” They settled down, but she still found herself staring at the visor before her. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Rayne isn’t my real name.”

“No?”

“You were honest about your name, so I’ll be as honest as I can about mine. It’s safer for you if you don’t know it.”

“Order 66,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“I understand. Thank you for telling me what you could.” His hold on her hand tightened for a moment. “I’m closing my eyes now.” He did sound tired.

“Ok. Me too.”

In truth, he waited for her to close hers first. When she did, the tightness in his chest released, but just a little. He wondered at the little boy who he had finally come to accept as his own. He wondered at the woman who had given him shelter, in more ways than one. He wondered at the relationship forming between the two, the Force bonding them together as she taught him how to use it the best she could.

He wondered if he was looking at his family, right now.

He wondered what the hell he was doing.

And then he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going on the assumption that Din is the same age as Pedro at the time Season 1 aired.
> 
> Comments are welcomed and encouraged. I was super-anxious about posting this chapter and any feedback on how I can make things suck less would be awesome. (I have endured the wrath of scientific journal editors. I can take it.) Or, if you liked it, tell me about that, too!


	4. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din recruits Rayne to join them, then lies about that lingering head injury. Rayne pulls some Enemy Sorcery on a bunch of Stormtroopers. Things go horribly wrong.
> 
> The Child earns his keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, stuff actually happens in this one!
> 
> Song titles for all chapters are linked for easy listening. This one may well be the theme for the whole story.

_Going to find me someone to share  
A common disaster  
Run away with me from a life so cramped and dull  
Not worry too much about the happily-ever-after  
Just keep the Caddy moving  
‘Til we’re well beyond that hill_

Cowboy Junkies, [Common Disaster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TsS_W5jN-vU)

* * *

Running.

Rayne was running.

Din’s kid was strapped to her chest, facing her, huge dark eyes wide open and round, streaked with the reflection of the blaster bolts searing over her shoulders.

She heard the clang of a bolt deflecting off beskar behind her, heard Din grunt under the impact, felt the sting of it near the middle of her back as he unwittingly projected, heard the kid cry out as he felt it, too. She kept going, not turning back, knowing Din was ok, knowing he was covering their escape.

Another bolt hit him in the back of the head –

Her eyes flew open.

The t-shaped visor of Din’s helmet was inches from her face, dim reflected light curving over the surface of the beskar.

She resisted the reflex to push away from it, the realization of where she was finally surfacing in her mind. The Razor Crest. They were on the Razor Crest. The cramped bunk sandwiched between the bulkheads.

The sound of heavy breaths from tiny lungs drew her eyes down to the baby, eyes wide open and staring right at her, mouth open as he drew as much air as he could manage. She settled her hand on his back, spreading her fingers against the trembling she felt there. _It’s ok_. She pushed the thoughts to him, not wishing to wake Din. _It was just a dream_.

The baby closed his mouth and frowned, almost as if to say, _That’s bullshit and you know it_. He calmed down anyway, seeming to sense her desire to let Din continue sleeping.

The bucket seemed to have insulated Din from the commotion. He remained mostly still, but as Rayne watched, he looked to be caught in the grip of a dream of his own. The muscles in his arms twitched and his hands closed around the blanket he had pulled up to his chin. A low moan escaped him, a long, sad sound. Grief and confusion rolled off of him as the wave crested, then receded. After that, he took a few sharp breaths and stilled. His shoulders slumped as his body relaxed and his breathing fell back into a normal, slow rhythm, too quiet to activate the modulator.

She checked the time on her wristband. Finding that early morning had arrived, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, with an idea itching at the back of her head, she decided to get up.

* * *

Din woke alone in his bunk.

Snapping up, he pulled himself out to look around the cargo bay. All of the ramps were up and the ship appeared to still be sealed, so that was good. He sat still for a moment, listening. Shortly, he heard the sound of clicking coming from the flight deck.

When he reached it, he found Rayne in the pilot’s chair, swiveled around with her feet propped on the starboard jump-seat, datapad in hand, the kid asleep in her lap. Rayne looked up at his arrival and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey. Everything ok?”

“Yeah. I had some inspiration on the personal fob scramblers and I wanted to write it down before I forgot. He was already awake so I just brought him with me so you could sleep in a little.”

“Thank you.”

“The bots should have some breakfast stuff ready out at the shop. Since your sleeping baby is pinning me to the chair, you can send one of them back here with our stuff and you can have the kitchen to yourself.”

He nodded in response, donned the armor, and headed out. Her tone had been amicable but clear: she was on the clock now, and her time was his money.

He could appreciate a woman who recognized boundaries.

Sure enough, three bots had breakfast ready. They chirped a happy greeting to him and stood at attention, seeming to wait for his order. “Um… Rayne and the kid will eat on the ship.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll eat here.” They chirped again and whirred into motion, two of them carrying their delivery to the ship while the third led him to the kitchen and, thankfully, left him alone.

He stood at the peninsula that divided the kitchen from the living/sleeping area, where a plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit waited for him. He did a quick scan for security cameras, not expecting to find any since there weren’t any outside, but just to be sure. Finding none, he turned back to the plate, had a seat, and lifted the helmet from his head.

Not for the first time, the realization that he had slept with an enemy sorcerer dawned in his mind.

And now he was alone in her home. With his helmet off.

What the hell was he doing?

_Getting help, you dumb shit._

Help. Right. He took his gloves off and ran his hands through his hair, pressing his palms against his forehead at the headache once again forming behind it. He just could not shake this concussion, and he had to admit that it was starting to worry him.

He picked at his food, appetite taking a sudden nosedive from the hammer in his skull. Fork in one hand, head propped in the other, he forced his breakfast down, barely tasting it, knowing it would help him feel better, even if it took longer than he liked. He washed it down with water. The coffee helped to take the edge off in the short-term.

Finished, he closed his eyes, running over it again in his head.

Rayne’s qualifications as a crewmember.

Good with the kid. Check. More than that, she was _excellent_ with the kid. She’d taught him more in three days than Din had in almost a year. She wasn’t particularly maternal, but she was warm to him, and he seemed to thrive under her watch. Good in a fight. Check. Probably. She still handled a saber like a giant ten-year-old, albeit an incredibly strong ten-year-old, but she could hold her own against him, and he knew she’d been pulling her shots in terms of using the Force. Good with the ship. God, yes, check. He had to admit he was a little jealous about it. Beyond her piloting and mechanical skills, she was clearly a _starship person_. She understood piloting preferences, returning the dashboard light settings to his pre-sets when she was done with it. She understood fire control, re-charging the extinguishers even though he’d forgotten to put it on the list. She understood keeping a tight ship, going as far as to follow his lead in sliding her clothes under the bunk with her foot before…

Good in bed. Check.

That had certainly _not_ been on his list of prerequisites.

 _No attachments_ , he’d told her. _When I leave, you won’t ever hear from me again_ , he’d told her.

Was it really only last night he’d said that? In the room directly behind him?

Here was the problem, then. The Venn diagram of People Who Could Help Him and People He Slept With were two entirely separate circles in his head. The first group, while professionals at what they did, was vanishingly small. They weren’t keen to being hired on, but he knew he could count on them when his back was against the wall. The second group was a nomadic trickle, rolling into his life, usually only docking for a few days, and then moving on, a random few ever circling back on the off-chance that he crossed paths with them again.

Only one person had filled both roles. Ages ago. His first.

Alaria.

He packed the thought away with immediate deliberation. The fact that she was an exception proved the rule. He could not sleep with the people who helped him, and he could not ask help from the people he slept with.

Was there any reason there couldn’t be another exception?

He looked around. Rayne’s home was small but well-kept. Comfortable. The shop was well-stocked and tidy. Her professional reputation was unquestioned. There was no way she would leave this all behind to join him on the impossible task of finding his son’s people.

Except for the fact that she had known about one of them. She was his only lead.

And the way she had looked out of the ship’s windscreen two days ago while they were in orbit, tracking the constellations like she was ready to go out there on her own. Stating as much that she’d felt confined, here.

Maybe she was ready for a break from civilized life.

She’d slept with a Mandalorian, for god’s sake.

Maybe she was ready to get a little uncivilized.

* * *

He found Rayne sitting on the edge of the ramp when he returned, scrolling through her datapad, the kid in the cargo hold behind her, sitting in the middle of the floor and levitating the large bearing in the air above him. She looked up at his approach. “So I have good news and bad news.”

He turned to sit on the floor at the other side of the ramp, back to the hull so he could see both her and the kid, knees pulled up just enough to rest his arms on them. “Let’s have the bad news first.”

“The Imps are here.”

His helmet tinked against the hull as he let his head fall back, letting out an exhale. “That didn’t take long.”

“Your excursion the day you got here must have caught someone’s attention. I’m actually surprised it took as long as it did.”

“What’s the good news?”

“Chances are at least one of them has the kind of fob Gideon is using to track you. I need one of those fobs to prototype the scramblers. We need to drop an Imp and grab one.”

“That’s easy enough.”

“Okay. So here’s the plan. I’ll make your supply run for you this morning – you set foot outside the hangar and Imps will be on you like fleas on a womprat. We get you guys all packed up and ready to go this afternoon. We take the Razor Crest to the abandoned shipyards on the other side of town so we don’t draw them to the hangar. You two bait the Imps, I drop one with a fob, then you guys get back on the ‘Crest and bounce for a while until I get the scramblers built. I’ll let you know when they’re ready and meet you wherever to exchange. It’ll probably be a few weeks. After that, I have some friends on Coruscant who can probably get you some more leads on your son.”

“You intend to stay here with Imps sniffing around while you build the scramblers.” His tone was less than pleased.

“They’ll disperse once they see you guys leave the atmosphere.”

“No, they won’t.” His voice took a hard crack, the image of broken and bloody armor flashing in his vision. “They knew I left Nevarro and they destroyed the covert anyway. They’ll kill anyone who helps me.”

“That’s why we’ll bait them at the shipyards. No one actually lives over there. It’ll be fine.”

“And if they find you with the fob? You have any idea what they’ll do to you?”

“I do. But they won’t.”

Din let out a long breath. This actually presented an opening for him, but he knew it would still be a fine line to walk. “I have a revision to the plan.”

“Okay.”

“But I have to ask you a question first. It might sound inappropriate, but…”

She broke eye contact, looking back out over the yard, a hard expression on her face. She gave a conciliatory sigh a moment later and her face softened. “Ok, that’s fair.” She turned her head back to face him. “Ask away.”

“I’m working on the assumption that you normally don’t sleep with your clients. So why me?”

She dropped her gaze for a moment, considering. “My general instinct is to fix broken things. Not that you’re broken per se, but you’re definitely at a crossroads. You want to be a better person, and you gave up everything to save this kid and go down this road. I admire that. I’ve never met anyone who’s made that kind of sacrifice. You deserved some happiness.” _And maybe see if it would lead you to consider what I think you’re considering. Or at the very least, get you to trust me enough to get your shiny beskar ass to_ _Coruscant to people I think can help you, so if we can just get on with this…_

That tight feeling in his chest returned. God, he didn’t deserve all that. “What about you? What do you deserve?”

Her eyes narrowed in a frown, confused by his question.

“Did you… get what you wanted last night?”

“Wh- oh.” She laughed. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

The helmet tipped in acknowledgement. “You were right. It was… different for me. In a good way. I just… wanted to make sure…”

“Din, yes,” she smiled. She hadn’t expected him to be so insecure about this. “What does this all have to do with your plan revision?”

He took a long breath. Now or never. “Come with us.”

Here it was. _Let’s see how serious he is_. “What?”

“I… need help. I need _your_ help. _He_ needs your help. I can’t… _do_ this alone anymore. The work I do – I can’t have him with me all the time. I can’t leave him unsupervised. I need someone to have my back. If I get injured, I need someone who can put me back together again. If I damage the ship, I need someone who can put that back together again. I need more leads to his people. I need someone who can take care of him if something happens to me. Chances are you’re the only one in the parsec who can help him in the ways he needs.” He trailed off, not knowing what else to say, not caring for the desperation he heard in his own tone.

She held his gaze for a moment, took a deep breath, then looked back out over the yard, as fully aware of his desperation as he was. She thought back to his words late last night. _I found you_. She thought further back to his very different words earlier in the evening. “This is a hard one-eighty from your ‘no attachments’ spiel last night.”

“It is.”

“What changed?”

“I realized you checked all the boxes.”

“You’ve known me for three days.”

“Am I wrong in my assessment?”

“That I can be your tutor-nanny-bodyguard-doctor-mechanic? No, you’re not wrong. But I’m not hearing anything about what I get out of this. As fine a lay as you are, that’s not enough for me to give up my life and join you on this mission.” _C’mon, Djarin. Fight for it. Show me you can think outside that can of yours and see it from my side._

“The first night we were here, you said he’s the strongest user of the Force in the galaxy. I think you’re right. Two nights ago, you said you would do what you could to make the galaxy a better place. Here’s your chance.”

 _Hoo boy, he’s got me there_. She was still looking out over the yard, but the look on her face seemed to acknowledge his words.

“You mentioned something about not getting off-planet enough. Preferring wide-open spaces.”

Another thoughtful sigh.

“The Imps will kill you if they find out what you’re up to.”

If. Big if. Ok, maybe a moderate if…

“This is a paid gig.”

This time she laughed and turned to face him. “Assuming average effort and pay on a bounty, how many days’ work did three days of my time cost you?”

 _Dammit_. He’d gotten lucky on this one – only two days. Two long, full days. Normally though… “About a week.”

She smiled. “Oh, honey, you can’t afford me.” Her tone seemed to suggest that didn’t matter, though.

He sensed she’d already taken the bait. He tipped his head in his son’s direction. “You gonna’ look at that face and tell him no?”

“Uuurrrrrgh…”

Now she was just toying with him. He could play that game too. “I’ll let you fly the ship…” His tone was playful, sing-songing the last few words.

“I’ll tell you what…” she said, leaning back. “I have a few patent designs I’ve been sitting on. I need to get to Coruscant to get any good money for them anyway. Between that and some savings, we’re covered on… let’s call it a year’s worth of fuel and parts for the ship, lodging, plus some incidental gear. You cover food with the bounty gravy. I have a niece off-planet who’s been thinking of setting up her own shop. I’ll have her take over here once things cool down. That way, I can still tap this place if things go longer than a year. Plus whatever other patents I come up with.”

Din was speechless. 

When he didn’t respond after several moments, she leaned forward. “Everything ok in there?”

“Yes. I… Yes. That… that all sounds… that’ll work.”

“Okay,” she looked back out over the yard. “Packing up will take the rest of the day, then. We’ll drop the Imps tomorrow morning and head out.”

“One more request.”

“Hm?”

“Can we please bring your hairdryer?”

She smiled. “I’ll make sure to bring the hairdryer.”

They both turned as the kid laughed and clapped, the large bearing still floating over his head.

* * *

She’d donned a sand-colored wrap with a hood, not wanting the Imps to get too good of a look at someone who might look like they’re ready to skip town. “Remember,” she told Din. “They do urban patrols in pairs. Anyone shows up, drop them both and drag the bodies inside. Keep their helmets intact so you can respond with their own coms if they get any calls. I should be back in two hours.”

“Buzz me with your wristband if you have trouble.”

“I should be fine. I’m going to drop a few red herrings with some folks who know me that I’m heading out for a while. Give them something to say in case the Imps care if I’m not here and start asking around. Check the shop for any tools you don’t have that we have room for.”

He tipped his head. “Okay.” He hooked his finger around hers. “Two hours.” She held his gaze for a moment, then turned and left.

Her first stop was the bar on the outer edge of the market. She slid her empty hover-cart in a spot around the side of the low adobe building and headed in. The bartender looked up at her entrance. “Rollins.” His greeting was warm as he cleaned the surface of the bar at her usual spot.

“Carzan.”

“Little early for y’ to be in here. Rough night?”

“Nah,” she smiled. _A damned good one, actually_. “Thought I’d drop by for a milk before I headed out.”

“Which color would y’ like today?”

“Oh, let’s go with the blue stuff.”

“Comin’ up.” Carzan reached into the cooler, pulled out a bottle of bantha milk, popped the lid, and placed it in front of her. “Where y’ headed?”

“Naator. Family emergency.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“It’ll be ok. It’s been a while since I’ve been off-planet, so it’ll do me good either way. Hey, I cancelled all of my appointments, but if anyone comes by, tell them not to wait on me. I might be a while.” She placed a several times the normal tip on the bar.

Carzan considered the sum and scooped it off the surface. “Will do. That bad, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Not sure yet. Thought it best to clear the calendar.” She downed half the bottle, then gesture to the screen behind the bar showing the local news. “So what’s with all the Imps in town, anyway?”

He shrugged, his expression darkening. “Not sure. They haven’t gotten this far yet. But they’re not messin’ around. They’re under some Moff who made an example of some folks who didn’t cooperate earlier this mornin’.” He turned back to the screen. “Yeah, they’re playin’ it now.”

Rayne watched the screen as Moff Gideon strode to three people on their knees, bound, in the middle of a neighborhood square. He stood between them and the camera, pulled a handle from his hip, activated a black energy blade from it, and made a sweeping motion with his arm. When he walked away, three heads lay on the ground as their accompanying bodies slumped over.

“Bloody hell,” Carzan swore.

Rayne found herself unable to move. Unable to breathe. An icy tendril began to wrap itself around the base of her spine and creep up her ribs.

“What the hell kinda’ sword do y’ think that is?” Carzan asked.

“I don’t know.” Her response was barely more than a whisper.

Oh, but she knew all right. She knew exactly what it was, and she had a very, very bad feeling about this.

It was the Darksaber.

* * *

She did her best to keep her hands from shaking as she procured all of the provisions. Mostly non-perishables, only enough in the way of fresh stuff to tide them over until they got to where they were going next. Medical supplies. A new wrench to replace the one the kid had swallowed yesterday (and so thoughtfully returned this morning). Fabricating materials. A front-loader baby-carrier. Ammunition. Lunch for when she got back and dinner for tonight.

And a big rubber frog.

She got back five minutes before her deadline, and Din had already picked out everything he wanted from the shop, gotten it squared away on the ship, and made some room for Rayne’s belongings for when she was ready to load up. “Any trouble?” he asked.

“Not really,” she responded. “Any trouble here?”

“No. Ship’s fueled up.”

“Good.”

They took a break for lunch, Din bolting his food in the kitchen without tasting it, then joining Rayne and his son outside as Rayne picked through the second half of her meal, expression pensive behind the amber shades. Something was gnawing at her. “What did you see out there?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh. We can talk about it later. Those headaches getting any better?”

He tipped his head, knowing he hadn’t said anything about them. “I’m fine.” _I’m fine right now, anyway_.

“Hm.” Distracted, she finished her lunch.

* * *

“I just need some rest,” Din said.

They stood on the flight deck that evening, the ship all packed up and ready to go, discussing their next move.

“We need a place to lay low for a while,” Rayne said. “You need more than rest. You’re worn down. You’re underweight. I need to get these fob scramblers prototyped before we set foot on Coruscant. All three of us need some training. Three weeks, minimum.”

“Three weeks in here?” Din loved the Razor Crest, but the thought of being sealed up in it with two others in deep space for that long made him want to scream.

“No,” she smiled. “I know just the place. Let me show you.” She did a quick search on the map and brought it up. “Methuselah. No indigenous or settling sapients, tons of temperate forest, fresh water, fish, game, edible greens.”

“How does a place like that stay uninhabited?” His tone was laced with cynicism, wondering what the catch was.

She zoomed the image out. “It doesn’t have much in the way of mineral deposits, so it’s unsuitable for any kind of industry. It’s also tricky to get to. The magnetic field in the upper atmosphere at the poles is outrageously strong – ships get ripped apart unless you go through at the equator, which is guarded by a nearly impenetrable asteroid belt.”

“Of course it is.” He sat down with a petulant sigh. “This does us no good if we can’t get to it.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” she said, smiling. “I can get us there.”

His only response was a dip in the helmet.

“There’s a competition here once a year. Pilots get together to see who can make it through first. Most don’t make it at all. You’re looking at a two-time winner.”

“You’ve gotten through that twice.”

“Yes. And back out, so technically four times.”

“With a ship this size.”

“N- no.” She gave a conciliatory shrug. “Old X-wings. They were easy to get through, though. I could use more of a challenge. It’ll be fun!”

“No. Not with my ship. Not with our lives.”

“Din,” she put her hand over his, recognizing his need for her to take this seriously. “I’m telling you. We need this. I can do it. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me on this, but that’s what I’m asking. Trust me.”

“Did you use the Force to get through?”

“Passively, yes. Precognition. I sense where the gaps between the asteroids will be before they open up.”

“You cheated.” His tone was hard.

She shrugged. “Passive use. I was still mostly on my own at that point and kept forgetting that normal people can’t do that. I don’t have to try. It just… happens. I figured it out after the second win and quit. I’ll have to be more active to get the Crest through. Push a few rocks out of the way. Look a little harder.”

“How much of a challenge will this be for you?”

“I’ll have to concentrate – it’ll take my full attention. I’m more worried about you two. I’d prefer it if you were down in the hold-”

“No.”

“Which is what I figured, so I’ll need you both on empty stomachs. It’s going to be a wild ride, and neither one of us wants any puking up here.”

“We’ve been through rough rides before. We’ll be fine.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Din sighed. “Yes.”

Rayne’s face suddenly grew serious as she turned to the hold. “Get the kid but stay on the ship.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to have company in a few minutes.”

A few minutes later, Din had put the sleeping kid in his crate, moved him up to the flight deck, and locked the door closed on him. He stood next to the port exit of the ship, back to the hull, sidearm drawn, listening to Rayne talk to two Stormtroopers outside in the yard.

“What’s up, guys?” Her tone was nonchalant.

“We’re looking for two fugitives. A Mandalorian who kidnapped a green infant.”

“Huh. Conspicuous pair. Surprised you haven’t found them yet.”

“The Mandalorian was spotted in this area three days ago.”

“Haven’t seen them.” He could almost hear the shrug in her voice.

“They’re traveling in a dual-engine gunship.”

“Haven’t seen one of those either.” _Do they not see the dual-engine gunship right in front of their faces?_

“We’re going to have to search your establishment.”

Rayne continued. “It’s late. You’ve been out all day looking for those two. You’re tired. Y’know what? The bar down the street has a great bantha burger. You should go try it out.”

“Mmm.” The junior trooper was clearly interested.

“It’s happy hour,” Rayne said. “If you leave now, you’ll make it for the two-for-one beer special.”

Din couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the junior trooper yawn. “Wow. Yeah. I’m exhausted. That beer sounds great right now.”

“I’m not much of a beer person,” the ranking trooper said.

“Mid-week whiskey special is tonight.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Din’s eyes went wide as the ranking trooper conceded, heart hammering in his chest. _What am I hearing? What is going on?_

Rayne’s voice again. “There’s nothing out here anyway. Just write up your report that you checked and didn’t find anything, and be done with it.”

“There’s nothing out here. Let’s just go back.”

“Have a good night, guys.”

“G’night, ma’am.”

Din holstered his sidearm as he listened to her footsteps ascend the ramp, and tapped the button to close it when she was inside. “What. The hell. Was that?” His voice was rough through the modulator.

She gave him a wry smile. “Sorcery and fairytales.”

He led her to the bunk.

* * *

He twitched awake.

He was alone. Darkness shrouded the hold. Sounds of the kid’s breathing, still deep in sleep, drifted up from his crate, placed just outside of the bunk.

He slid out just enough to get his feet to the floor and poked his head out. Looking to his left, he saw that Rayne had pulled a chair up against the starboard side of the hull, and sat facing the sealed port exit, his Amban across her knees.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about an enemy sorcerer handling his rifle. He couldn’t tell if she’d loaded it, but he could see the four rounds she’d tucked into the top of her boot, pressed against the muscle of her calf. He hauled himself out and walked over, bare feet padding on the floor. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey.” Her hands remained on his rifle, but she looked up to the visor for a moment before looking back to the closed ramp.

“What’s up?”

“Woke up. Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“You always guard exits with disruptor weapons when that happens?”

That finally got a smile out of her. She reached up to his hand on her shoulder and traced the fingers there. “No. I just… don’t have an excellent feeling about this.”

“Got a better plan?”

“No.”

“Any other visitors on the way tonight?”

“I don’t think so.”

He took a slow breath. “Come back to bed?”

“You want some alone time in there without the helmet or anything?”

“I’m fine. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He lifted his rifle from her lap with one hand and held out the other.

She pulled the rounds from her boot and placed them in his outstretched palm.

* * *

Rayne stood in the center of her bedroom, early morning sun filtering in through the windows as she took one last look around. Din stood in the kitchen with the kid tucked in at his side, leaning back against the counter, his posture relaxed.

Her home for the last five years. A mostly solitary existence, but a peaceful one. A reasonably profitable one. A boast most people couldn’t make. Her truly necessary possessions, her laptop and all encompassed intellectual property, whatever tools they could fit, and apparently her hairdryer, were all packed up on the ship. They’d moved the bulkier machinery and all but two of the bots to the hidden basement. There wasn’t much else to leave behind. The uncertainty of whether or not she would ever return to it tugged at the corner of her mind.

So much, and yet so little.

She looked to the Mandalorian standing in her kitchen holding the small, green baby with the enormous ears. Not something she would have predicted to ever see in her kitchen. That baby had upended the Mandalorian’s life, turned him completely upside down and inside out.

And now they would do the same to her.

“Ready?” Din asked, voice soft.

“Ready.”

* * *

Rayne walked the street with her hood pulled over her head, the baby strapped to her chest in the carrier, what Din had called a _birikad_.

The Imps would be here any minute.

They had made a long, slow pass over the abandoned shipyards with the Razor Crest, deliberately advertising their presence. One of her bots was jacked in on the flight deck ready to lift off, with only minimum objection from Din. Another one strolled at her side, ready to run whatever interference was needed.

The baby was the bait. She was the hook.

Din lurked on the rooftop, ten stories above.

No one ever looked up.

Sure enough, a platoon of Stormtroopers appeared ahead, marching in formation, approaching. She stood her ground and let them come. The baby was quiet, sensing Rayne’s enforced calm before the coming confrontation.

Trooper 113ZC, “Zach,” led the platoon. He’d volunteered for it, for this particular mission. He normally wasn’t so ambitious. Just got along to get along. Imp work kinda sucked, but it beat starving to death. This mission though… this one was interesting. A baby! What the hell kind of nutball kidnaps a baby and drags it all the way around the Outer Rim of the galaxy for almost a year? A Mandalorian nutball, apparently. He’d never seen a Mandalorian before, but had heard the stories of how the Empire had nearly wiped them out, the war-worshiping people representing such a threat to peace and prosperity. If Zach could be part of a mission to bring another one down and save an innocent baby in the process, well, that would be something worthwhile.

It never occurred to Zach to wonder why someone like Moff Gideon was so interested in this baby.

It never occurred to Zach to wonder why Gideon thought this baby was worth beheading people in a village square over.

And when Zach marched up to the hooded woman with a baby strapped to her chest, the baby that the fob on his hip was keyed into, according to the link in his HUD, it never occurred to him to look up.

The woman was only average height, and had to lift her face to him when he stopped before her. She did not pull the hood away, so all he saw of her were the shadows below her brows and cheekbones. Something unfamiliar twisted in Zach’s chest, his orders for her to hand the baby over dying on his lips.

“Hey,” the woman said. “What’s up?”

Zach’s head swam. “We’re… looking for… looking for a baby.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice a seasoned alto, bringing her hand to the bundle before her. “You mean this baby?”

Zach felt suddenly drowsy. “Yeah… that… baby.”

The woman smiled. “You can’t have him.”

“But I… we…” What the hell was going on?

“You can’t have him,” she repeated.

“I can’t have him,” he echoed.

“I want your tracking fob,” she said.

“N- y- yeah, ok.” He reached for his hip, disconnected the fob from his armor, and handed it to her.

She reached out, took it, and put it in her pocket. She smiled. “Thank you.”

“You… you’re welcome?” He didn’t think this was how it was supposed to go.

“Will this track the Mandalorian as well?”

“Yeah. Just… flip the switch on the bottom.”

“Thank you. Are you tired, trooper?”

Goddamn, was he ever. “Yeah.”

“Go to sleep.”

Trooper 113ZC collapsed.

The other nineteen members of the platoon made the mistake of leveling their blasters at Rayne Rollins.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

The other nineteen members of the platoon collapsed.

Rayne turned and ran.

From the rooftop, Din pulled the scope from his visor and shoved it into his belt. He stood up, turned, ran to the other end of the roof, and jumped off.

His jetpack kicked on, slowed his descent, and shut off when his feet hit the ground running behind Rayne, blaster already in his hand, covering their retreat. He knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the troopers down for long. Running, weighed down by the beskar, he found that keeping up with her wasn’t easy. When she flinched to the left, he followed, trusting her precognition, watching the blaster bolt zing by over their shoulders. He stopped and turned, firing on the troopers who had gotten up and were following, dropping five of them to the ground, dead. He turned back and ran. He saw her flinch again. He took this one in the shoulder, grunting as it ricocheted into the jetpack and then struck him again near the middle of his back before it lost momentum and dropped out. He stopped again to lay down more cover fire, wishing they’d had more time to set up obstacles to cover them on the way back to the ship. He turned again to run.

He was going full-speed when two bolts hit him in the back of the head in a one-two pulse.

His world went white.

And then it went black.

Din lost consciousness immediately.

Up ahead, Rayne staggered, catching herself on the bot running next to her.

Din’s jetpack, not quite yet dialed in, kicked on of its own accord before his body had a chance to fall, launching him twenty feet into the air and turning him over before cutting off and dropping him back to the ground again, sliding ten feet through the dirt.

Rayne let out a strangled yell and came to a stop. “Gamma…” she called to the bot as she undid the straps holding the baby to her. She handed the bundle to the bot. “Get the kid to the ship and lock him in the bunk. Tell Beta to fire up the engines and then come back.” The bot chirped an acknowledgement and sped off.

Rayne turned, facing into the oncoming blaster fire, and ran back for Din. When she reached him, she Forced out another command to the troopers to buy more time. “Get. Down.” The blaster fire paused long enough for her to pull Din up by the chestplate, get his arms over, and haul him up over her shoulders. He wasn’t quite as heavy as she expected, but he would still slow her down considerably. She did the best she could, a kind of shuffling jog, wincing as another blaster bolt caught the plate in his back, just below the jetpack.

Gamma returned, blaster bolts deflecting off of its force-field, reaching out for Din’s body as she handed him over. “Go go go! Lift off as soon as you get him on board!” The bot once again chirped and sped off, Rayne following.

Troopers were now arriving from both sides of the street. She put them down as they took aim, her head starting to ache. Blaster bolts continued to zing all around her.

She ran.

She ran.

She heard the Razor Crest’s engines flaring to life up ahead.

She ran.

She tripped, plowed face-first into the street, rolled out of it the best she could, got back up.

And ran.

Rayne burst back into the shipyard as the Crest was lifting off, portside ramp still down. Leaping, she caught the end of the ramp. “Go!” Gamma relayed her command from the hold and Beta, still jacked in on the flight deck, punched the throttle. The engines roared and the forward momentum dragged her to the corner of the ramp, and she got another hand on it. Just as she swung a leg up to hook her heel around the raised edge, a blaster bolt grazed her left arm and she lost her grip with her left hand, screaming with pain and frustration. The ship accelerated quickly and she could feel herself start to peel off of the ramp, felt the ramp itself start to vibrate, not really meant to be deployed at this speed. “Close the ramp!” Somehow, Gamma heard her over the thundering of the engines and hit the button. As the ramp started to lift, her hope was that she could shimmy around onto it and slide down into the hold.

She’d forgotten about the hydraulic lifter sliding along the side of the ramp in its track, heading right for her.

_Oh, shit._

She was ripped from the ramp and was flying through the air.

Flying through the air _into_ the ship.

She flew across the hold, struck the hull on the other side with her hip and a grunt, and crashed to the deck as the ramp sealed shut.

That done, Beta switched over to its pre-programmed emergency escape response and put the throttle all the way down, the ship coming alive all around her with a steady thrum as the engines flung them through the atmosphere.

From the middle of the hold, the baby laughed and clapped.

Rayne glared at Gamma. “I told you to lock him in the bunk.”

Gamma shrugged with a quarking sound. _You thought that would work?_

She shook her head, then looked back to the baby. “Thanks.”

Instead of responding, he turned his attention to the front section of the hold, to the sound of metal sliding on metal.

 _Din_.

Not trusting her hip, she dragged herself over to him, finding him on his back in a puddle of his own blood, body twitching as he started to seize.

 _Oh, no_.

Her vision swam as her own blood ran freely down her arm from the blaster graze.

She grunted as she rolled him over just enough to access the catches on the jetpack and disconnected it from his armor. She slid it out of the way, backed herself against the bulkhead next to the bunk, leaned forward, hooked Din under the arms, and dragged him up so the back of his head thumped against her sternum, shoulders between her knees. Reaching to the bunk behind her, she pulled the sheet off, took it in her teeth, and started ripping it up into strips.

The ship thrummed around her as Beta took evasive action from Imperial pursuit.

The engines thundered as Din’s lungs filled and emptied between her shins and his blood spilled into her hands and his body twitched against her in weak pulses.

Her eyes rolled to the side and caught the kid standing next to her, eyes wide and round, waiting.

“Hey, buddy. I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alaria showed up back in [Turning the Corner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232464/chapters/53085688#workskin).
> 
> Literal translation for _birikad_ is "baby carrying harness" in Mando'a according to [mandoa.org](http://mandoa.org/), a handy little resource.
> 
> Special thanks to my RL friends for slogging through this with me, particularly SK, for dealing with my single-track mind since November.


	5. The Price of Beskar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alright, kiddo, let’s commit some blasphemy.”
> 
> Rayne skirts the edge of the Way to save Din's life. Her enemy sorcery can only bring him so far, and he has some Dark Moments. Lessons in Mandalorian culture and history are exchanged, and Din must atone to the Child for his past decisions. Rayne revisits a dark place of her own, and Din starts to figure out how to do the “comfort” side of hurt/comfort.
> 
> It’s a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssssooo the word “blood” shows up 33 times in this one. I delayed posting by a day because this is sssooo not an appropriate Valentine’s chapter.
> 
> And a Game of Thrones reference, just because.

_Oh, a storm is threat’ning  
My very life today  
If I don’t get some shelter  
Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away  
War, children, it’s just a shot away_

Rolling Stones, [Gimme Shelter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbmS3tQJ7Os)

* * *

The deck thumped under her as the Razor Crest’s guns fired on swarming Imps.

Her teeth buzzed in her skull as the engines burned. They sounded good. They sounded strong.

Din’s body twitched between her knees as he seized. He was not good. Already, she was covered in his blood, the back of his helmet heavy against her sternum.

Rayne’s vision grayed out, sound fading to a sharp, high whine as she tied the torn-off sheet strip around the upper part of her left arm with her teeth and her right hand. Blood loss, combined with her earlier efforts at Force-controlling a platoon of Imps, threatened to drain the consciousness from her mind.

Another round of gunfire brought her back.

It was just as well there was no table big enough to put his body on. They couldn’t fall off the floor.

Her eyes rolled to the left and down, catching Din’s son at her side. She knew Din had been in rough shape when they first arrived at her hangar a few days ago, knew he’d been suffering through intermittent headaches, knew that the two shots he’d taken to the back of the head would normally not have phased him. “What happened?” she asked the baby. “Can you show me? What happened before?”

Taking her meaning, the kid leaned into her, wound her shirt into his hands, and closed his eyes.

Rayne saw it all from the kid’s perspective.

Saw his father mow the Imps down with an enormous gun. Saw Gideon shoot his father in the back of the head. Saw Gideon take aim for the cannon battery. Saw the explosion throw his father twenty feet in the air. Saw the Shocktrooper drag his father to cover. Saw her pull her hand away, covered in his father’s blood. Saw her try to save his father’s life.

Saw his father refuse.

 _Oh Din, you idiot_.

Saw his father later, somehow, stagger to the front of a boat, swing the jetpack over his shoulders to clip in, launch himself into the air, snag a TIE fighter with his vambrace whipcord, and get flung across the sky.

_Oh Din, you ginormous idiot._

The engines changed in pitch as Beta took evasive action, and Rayne was glad for the extra grav she’d installed in the hold, G-forces holding steady. She took the bed sheet in her teeth again and ripped off another strip. “Ok, buddy, time for the blindfold. Sorry about this.” To her great relief, the kid did not object as she wrapped the strip around his head, looping it around his ears to hold it securely over his eyes. “Please don’t squirm out of this like you squirm around locked doors.” That done, she ripped off one more strip, held one end in her teeth, closed her eyes, wrapped it around her head, and tied it off.

She was blind.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s commit some blasphemy.”

She felt around the bottom edge of the helmet and found the release catch on the right side, breaking the seal around Din’s neck. Reaching down his arms, she grabbed the vambraces at his wrists, pulled his hands up, worked her hands up to his wrists, and used his own hands to lift the helmet from his head.

She set the helmet down to her right, the kid still at her side to her left. She slid her right hand up the back of Din’s head, frowning as she felt a shard of his skull protruding through his scalp, slick under his blood and hair. She wrapped her left hand around the front of his head. Concentrating, she mapped out the damage in her mind, feeling the kid next to her, watching, not interfering, but offering strength where he could.

The ship jumped to hyperspace.

The roar of the engines died away as the Razor Crest split the seams between space and time.

With the noise gone, she could now hear Din’s breathing, shallow and labored and rough. Unmodulated by the helmet. Stupid thoughts crossed her mind.

_His head is so round._

_I’m glad the engines held up._

_He really does need a haircut._

She bit her lip and forced herself to focus. Seeing his fractures in her mind, seeing the swelling at both the front and back of his brain, she bled the Force into him, first draining the swelling, repairing the vascular damage, then shifting her right hand to fit his skull back to the right shape, putting the pieces back together, knitting them closed. She sealed the laceration last, killing off any invasive bacteria, smoothing over the scar.

His breathing stabilized.

His body relaxed, seizures ending with the repair of neural tissue.

She felt the kid sag at her side.

She reached for the helmet to her right, but her hands were numb, and she only ended up pushing it out of reach. The high-pitched whine returned to the center of her head, and she felt her arms and legs go heavy and limp. With her vision already blacked out, she did not have the warning of it narrowing to a pinpoint before it winked out entirely with her consciousness.

Gamma, the bot that had shuttled Din and the baby to the safety of the hold, crouched in the corner and shivered as it watched three living beings lay unconscious in a drying puddle of blood.

* * *

The first thing Din was aware of was the hum of his ship in hyperspace.

A familiar sound.

A comforting sound.

Few things could hurt him here.

He was safe.

He was just sleeping.

Was he sleeping? He was at a weird angle. He tasted blood in his mouth. He _smelled_ blood. Heavy iron. He turned his head, feeling his hair stick to whatever he was on top of.

No helmet. He felt the rest of his armor weighing him down, but no helmet.

He forced his eyes open and sat up. Looking down, he saw boots that weren’t his at his hips.

Someone was still in them.

Sucking in a breath, he rolled to a crouch, drew his sidearm, and turned.

_Goddammit._

Rayne and his son were passed out against the bulkhead, blindfolded. Rayne was soaked in blood. He put his hand to the back of his head, felt a drying, caking mess back there, and realized she was covered in _his_ blood. He saw the bandage on her left arm, soaked with her blood as well.

The world tilted sideways for a moment. He closed his eyes, placed his hands on the floor to steady himself, and opened them again, holstering his sidearm.

He moved toward them, not recalling the last thing he remembered, not caring how they’d all gotten to where they were. The past could wait. He checked his son first, finding no wounds, his breathing and pulse were normal. None of the blood on his robe was his. Din picked him up and put him in his crate.

He turned his attention to Rayne.

Her breathing was shallow; her pulse was thin, but steady. He peeled her shirt off, up and over her head, threading her arms through the holes. One thing that sleeping with a crew member actually managed to make _less_ awkward was getting them out of their clothes to check for blaster wounds. Nothing he hadn’t already seen twice over, and he knew where the old scars were by now. No major wounds other than her arm; most of the blood on her shirt was his, then. He did the same with the leggings, frowning at the bruise rising at her hip. He pulled a tracking fob out of a pocket and set it aside, not thinking about it. He cleaned the blood and dirt off of her as well as he could, treated the wound on her arm with bacta from his medkit, along with the scrapes on her face, hands, elbows, and knees. He felt almost as if he was being piloted from far away, not entirely present in his tasks, disassociated from it all. The one exception was when Rayne tensed at the sting of the bacta, which loosened some of the tension in him, knowing she had enough left in her to at least respond to something. Not knowing where she’d stowed her clothes and not yet comfortable with rummaging around in her stuff, he pulled out one of his shirts, a pair of shorts, and a pair of socks, then set about the task of wrestling her into all of it. At long last, he had her bundled up in the bunk with what was left of the sheet, the blanket, plus an extra blanket for good measure.

Winded, he turned his attention to the puddle of blood smeared on the deck.

 _A little goes a long way_ , he told himself, but… still. It looked like a lot. He had no way of telling how much of it was his and how much of it was Rayne’s. He was wiped out. He couldn’t just leave it there, and he still had to get himself squared away, but… still. He put his back to the bulkhead and slid down to the floor next to the bunk, where Rayne had him before. He reached for his helmet, just barely within his arm span, and slipped it over his head. Uh. More blood in there, too. He’d get to it in a minute. Just…

He let his eyes slip closed.

Just for a minute.

Gamma sat in the corner and watched.

* * *

The ship dropped out of hyperspace.

Din snapped awake.

They coasted for a moment, then jumped back to lightspeed.

Right. Their first decoy stop.

They’d been going in the wrong direction on purpose for five hours.

Five hours? Had he really been sitting on the deck of his own ship, in a puddle of his own blood, for five hours?

He pulled his feet in and pushed himself up to standing. It finally occurred to him to wonder what had happened to put them all in this state of affairs. The fob on the floor caught his eye and he picked it up.

It all came back.

He’d watched from the rooftop as Rayne convinced a Stormtrooper to hand the fob to her, and then he’d fallen like a load of bricks. And then the _rest_ of them had fallen like dominos.

He remembered taking a bolt to the shoulder.

He turned and saw his jetpack on the floor, scraped up and covered in dirt.

He would never remember the two bolts to the back of his head, but he could figure it out well enough. He sighed, putting it all together.

He would deal with the picture the pieces made later. He still had a lot more work to do.

His son was snoring in his crate. Rayne was a quieter sleeper and he had to lean into the bunk and check her pulse at her neck before he was satisfied that she was ok. He turned and sat at the end of it, taking a moment to key his vambrace to receive the biometrics from her wristband. He set it to a light tap-buzz at the back of his wrist synched with her pulse so he would know if anything changed.

He removed their blindfolds. Something in his gut tightened at the sight of them in his hand, the realization that Rayne had taken the time for them before removing his helmet. He felt a mix of relief, gratitude, and betrayal at what she had done. Too exhausted to make any headway with it, he continued with his work.

He changed his son’s robe, dealt with the dried swath of blood on the deck, and then pulled the armor off. Cleaning that was a chore that would keep until later; the blood on it was his own, some of it might have been Rayne’s but the armor was not desecrated with the blood of enemies. Stepping into the fresher, he finally shucked himself out of his blood-soaked clothes, and, removing the helmet, took a look in the mirror.

The image of IG-11 flashed in his vision.

He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried again.

Just his own face this time, but the same bloody mess he had been after Nevarro.

He watched as the E-Web cannon battery blew up in his face.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was on the floor, the metal bulkhead cold against the bare skin of his back, arms covering his head.

 _Get your shit together._ He pulled himself up. _Don’t look in the mirror._ He brushed his teeth to get the taste of blood out of his mouth, closing his eyes until he rinsed the basin so he wouldn’t see it. He forced himself into the cramped shower, got it as hot as he could stand it, and again kept his eyes closed so he wouldn’t see the blood run off. He chanced running his hand over the back of his head and found that things felt normal back there, the odd bump that had been with him for the past week and a half no longer present. When his fingers started to prune up, he shimmied out, dried off, and set about cleaning his helmet out the best he could without looking at what came out of it. When he had resigned himself to the idea of putting it back on over wet hair, his eye happened to catch Rayne’s hairdryer in the rack where he’d stowed it earlier.

_Oh thank god._

The one chore in this whole waking hell of a day that would feel good.

The pure frivolousness of warm, blowing air nearly broke him down. He didn’t care. The tears came and he didn’t care. He’d cracked his skull open for the second time in less than two weeks, nearly died of a head injury for the second time in less than two weeks, lost what looked like two pints of blood, apparently got put back together again by an enemy sorcerer who was now passed out in his bunk, probably assisted by his enemy sorcerer child who was also passed out, had changed everyone on board out of blood-soaked clothes, and having dry hair before putting the helmet back on was the best fucking thing to happen to him in decades and he had no more fucks to give about the fact that his face was spewing tears over it.

Rayne was right about needing downtime. He was ready to sleep for a hundred years.

Thoroughly dry, he slipped the helmet back on, stepped out of the fresher, dressed in clean clothes, put his vambraces back on, scooped up all of the blood-soaked items littering the deck, and stuffed them in the clothes unit.

Done.

He turned to the bunk and stopped. Crawling in there with Rayne didn’t feel quite right, at the moment. He needed some space, at least until they had another discussion about helmet rules. Flight deck it was, then. He picked up his son’s crate and headed up the ladder.

He froze when he got to the top to find the bot on the flight deck, jacked into the droid port, flying his ship.

Would this shitshow of a day never end?

The bot turned and greeted him with a chirp.

“Get. Out.” His voice sounded like snapping ice. The bot made a sad-sounding noise as it set the ship to autopilot and jacked out. Din sighed and tried again. “Get out, please.” The bot chirped once more, then headed down the ladder.

Finally, Din put his son’s crate in the starboard jump-seat and eased himself into the pilot chair. Taking the sleeping child into his lap, he strapped himself into the chair so he wouldn’t fall out if it, turned to prop his feet up on the port jump-seat, and eased back.

The blue-white ripple of hyperspace flowed above them.

His body ached, even as his head was finally free from pain.

He could feel his son’s heartbeat through his hand. He could feel Rayne’s pulse through the vambrace on the back of his wrist. As Din dozed off, he realized that the two were perfectly synchronized, Rayne’s heart beating once for every three of the baby’s.

Together, they had saved his life, today.

He wondered if, together, they would be his undoing.

* * *

She woke up disoriented, not knowing where she was, alarmed at the blurry image of an armor-clad figure seated in a chair at the foot of the bunk. When her brain finally caught up and she realized it was Din, she relaxed, rubbing her eyes. When her vision cleared, she noticed the tension in his shoulders. Her eyes dropped to see that he had drawn his sidearm blaster and was holding it in his lap.

Ok, back to being alarmed.

She sat up and slid so her back was against the rear wall. “How’s the kid?”

“Fine.” His voice was low, menacing.

“The customary response to someone who saved your life is to say ‘Thank you.’“

“You removed my helmet.” In that moment, she saw the cold-blooded killer he often was. He knew she was claustrophobic. She knew he cornered her in here on purpose. A small part of her hated him for it.

She schooled herself back, knowing his reaction came from a place of self-defense, and possibly, some gaps in his memory. She looked at her arms, clad in a shirt that wasn’t hers. “Why am I wearing your clothes?”

His head cocked to the side.

“Where did you wake up?”

“Flight deck.”

“Do you remember how you got up there?”

“… No.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Waking up on the deck with my helmet off.”

“Are blackouts a thing for you?”

“It’s against the Creed.” Rage still drove the words, but his voice cracked with uncertainty.

“You’re telling me you would choose to die for your religion over living for your son?”

_Is that what I did before?_

Despite the fact that he literally had her backed into a corner, her eyes drilled into him, daring him to tell her she was wrong. Daring him to use the weapon in his hand. He took a deep breath and holstered his sidearm.

His vambrace began its tap-buzz against the back of his wrist once more, set to activate for half an hour after any change in Rayne’s pulse rate, and her heart was hammering, now. It startled him, the memory of setting it only now returning.

And then the rest of it came back.

Running from the Imps. Taking a shot in the shoulder. Waking up on the floor without his helmet on. His jetpack, scraped up and covered in dirt. Cleaning an enormous amount of blood off the deck. Unwrapping blindfolds from her and his son. Changing them both out of blood-soaked clothes. Having a hallucination or two in the fresher.

Out of all that, why had he blacked out all but the most incriminating bit?

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands, shaking. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked over the modulator.

Rayne slid forward. The space between Din’s knees and the bunk was enough for her to get her legs out, sit on the edge, and reach for his hands. He accepted, gripping her hands in his, pressing them back against the top of the helmet. Realization, guilt, and confusion rolled off of him in waves.

She let him ride it out, and when it subsided after a minute or two, she pulled his hands away from his head, sitting up. “You had a pre-existing skull fracture.”

“Yes.” He sat back.

“How did it happen?”

“I was standing next to an E-web cannon battery when Gideon fired on it. It detonated.”

“How did you treat it?”

“I let a droid use bacta.”

“What else did you do before it had a chance to heal?”

“I… tethered Gideon’s TIE fighter in mid-air and blew it up.” He tilted his head. “Why do I get the feeling you know all this already?”

“I knew everything except for the bit about the droid. I asked your kid what you did to yourself. I didn’t actually expect an answer, but he gave me one.” She released one of his hands to tap the side of her head with her own. “It was quite a show.” She took his hand again. “I asked you point-blank if your headaches were ok, and you said yes. You lied to me. You don’t get to jeopardize an op like that anymore. You don’t get to withhold information, put me in the position to make life decisions for you, and then play the religion card when I save your life. You have to be honest with me if this is going to work.”

He nodded his understanding. “Is that what he thinks I did before? Does he think I chose an honorable death over living for him?”

“Sure looked like it.”

“Do you understand what it means for me to take this off in the light? To show my face to anyone?”

“Not entirely.”

“When I swore the Creed, I swore my soul to the _manda_. While we live, it’s a balance of the mind, body, and spirit.” He brought his right hand to his forehead, dropped it to his heart, then back up to the side of his head. “We pass to it when we die to become part of the oversoul. Our collective conscious.”

Rayne smiled. “Sounds suspiciously like the Force.”

Din let out a sharp exhale. “You were born with sensitivity to the Force. Mandalorians have to _earn_ the _manda_. Live by the _Resol’nare_. The Six Actions. Wearing the armor is the first action. Our secrecy is our survival. I’ve sworn my soul to the _manda_. If I break the _Resol’nare_ , if I remove my armor and reveal my face, reveal that secret, I don’t get it back. I become _dar’manda_.”

“Soulless,” Rayne said.

He tilted his head at her familiarity with the term. “Yes.” He paused there, taking a long sigh. “I thought I was already dead on Nevarro. I was paralyzed from the waist down. I was blind in my left eye. Deaf on the left side. I knew I couldn’t keep breathing for much longer.” His tone was edged, the memory was a powerful one, and she felt it almost as her own, tasting the blood in his mouth as it kept filling, swallowing it back down so as not to drown in the helmet with it. “I knew I was leaving him no matter what anyone did for me and that _terrified_ me. Losing my soul at the same time… _dar’manda_ the moment before joining the _manda_ …” His voice hitched, unable to continue.

“I blindfolded myself. I blindfolded your son. I used your hands to pull the helmet off. I didn’t touch your face.”

“You saved my life without destroying my soul. Thank you.”

“What happens if I have to look you in the eye to save your life?”

Another deep sigh. “He’s my son, now. If it comes down to it, living to be his father is worth the price of my soul.” His voice was heavy.

A small squeak sounded from the bottom of the ladder and they both turned to see the baby with those huge eyes shining, arms up, wanting to be held.

“ _Ad’ika_ ,” Din pushed back in his chair and got up, sweeping the baby up in his arms. Rayne took the opportunity to escape the confines of the bunk, standing in time to see the baby turn his face into Din’s cowl and let out a sob, tiny fingers digging into the material around his neck.

“Whoa…” She took a step back, one hand at her forehead.

Din did a double-take between her and his son, the memory of Cara’s hands at her own throat clawing at the back of his mind. “What? What’s he doing?”

“It’s ok,” she closed her eyes, running her hand through her hair. “He’s just… angry about it. About Nevarro.” She opened her eyes and held Din’s gaze, brow furrowed. “This kind anger in a Force-sensitive kid… as powerful as he is…” She shook her head. “You have to talk to him. Now.”

The baby let out another sob, and Din tried to soothe him with a hand on his back. “Will he understand?”

She stood in the hold, wearing his clothes, one hand still in her hair, the other at her hip, holding up the shorts that were too loose on her frame, her face a study of worry for his son, and that tightness returned to his chest.

“I think maybe I can help translate.” Not trusting herself to stand, she took a seat in the chair and held her hands out. “Come here, kiddo. Your dad needs to tell you something.” The baby turned to her as Din handed him off and took his own seat at the edge of the bunk. Once again, she met Din’s gaze through the visor. “You need to say the words, but what you feel will be more important. I probably won’t have to do much. Just re-interpret if he misunderstands anything.”

Din nodded as Rayne turned the baby in her lap to face him. Din leaned forward, elbows on his knees so he was closer to eye-level with his son.

And then he closed his eyes and lowered his head, because it was too much to look his son in the eye and say the words at the same time.

“I’m sorry… about before. I thought I was dead. I didn’t choose my religion over you. I didn’t think I had a choice at all. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted. I did everything I could to make sure you wouldn’t be alone. I was… scared. Of all the things that scared me about dying, leaving you alone was the worst. Of all the things I never wanted for you, I never wanted for you to be alone.”

Din’s guilt and sorrow washed over them both, and the baby’s ears flattened against his shoulders, tiny body trembling. _Tell him how things will be different_ , Rayne pushed the thoughts at him. _Don’t make any promises you can’t keep, but tell him you love him_.

Din once again brought his hands to the top of his head and another wave of guilt rolled off of him as his shoulders shook. “I will always choose you…” His voice choked off, and Rayne was assaulted by simultaneous memories from both of them of the same moment, a vision of Din clad in mis-matched armor, standing before a container of beskar ingots, as the baby was led away.

 _Oh god_ , she realized. _He **did** go through with it. He traded the baby for the beskar._

Din’s breathing was labored through the modulator. “I won’t ever forgive myself for that. I won’t ever ask you to forgive me for it. Every time I put this armor on, I…” He broke off again, the pain of the memory gripping him in a visceral way, and the child’s body was rigid in Rayne’s hands. “I do it so I can protect you. It doesn’t belong to me. I bought it with your life. It belongs to you. _I_ belong to you.”

The child sat in the lap of his father’s new friend, the woman he had saved so she could save his father, felt her hands around him, steady him, give him the buoyancy he needed to survive the flood of his father’s guilt, keep him from drowning in his father’s sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

His father’s voice was raw, and the child knew it was too soon for his father to love. His father was still too damaged, no matter how much he may have wanted to provide it. That part of him simply had not worked for a long time, had shattered apart under the force of a concussion blast while huddled in a bunker, and it would be a while yet before it would work again.

But his father’s new friend was good at fixing things. Had brought new life to their ship, their home. Had kept his father’s life from spilling out of the broken parts of him. Maybe she could find his other broken parts and fix those, too, and then his father could love him.

Maybe she could love him, too.

And so the child reached up to his father, knowing that his father wanted to _be better_ , knowing that his father would no longer betray him, no longer abandon him, hoping that, in time, his father would be able to love him. And when his father swept him up, he cried with happiness. He cried with acceptance. He cried with his own love, that someday might be reciprocated.

Din held his crying son in his arms, tiny body trembling, hearing that the tone in his son’s cries was different but not knowing how. Looking to Rayne with a silent question, her eyes shining, she gave him a nod and a tired smile.

Good enough.

* * *

Din and the baby retired to the bunk, Din still wiped out from all the blood loss and needing some sleep without the helmet. So long as the door remained closed and the lights off, it was ok for the baby to remain with him.

Rayne was famished, so after finding her clean clothes and changing into them, she fixed herself a huge plate of noodles and meat and settled down at the small table in the hold to eat it, enjoying some time alone and the hum of the ship around her.

The tracking fob keyed to Din and the baby’s chain codes lay on the table before her.

They’d pulled it off.

The cost had almost been insurmountable, but they all managed to hold it together.

Gamma crept up to her, sounding a timid warble.

“Whoa, hey, I forgot all about you. I’m sorry about that. You probably need to get charged up, huh?”

It chirped an affirmative.

Rayne frowned. “You’ve been down here the whole time?”

_Yes._

“You saw Din’s face? Without the helmet?”

_Yes._

“You have a record of it?”

_Yes._

“You can play it back?”

_Yes._

She sighed, casting a glance at the closed door of the bunk. “Go grab my spanner, will you?” The bot did as it was told, returning with the tool. She directed it to have a seat on the floor before her so she could open the access panel to its memory core.

“Sorry, buddy. I gotta wipe your memory from launch time.”

 _Okay_.

* * *

Several hours later, the door to the bunk slid open and Din grunted his way out. He nodded to Rayne as she looked up from her work at the table, having pulled the fob apart, sorting through the pieces. She nodded back and returned to her task.

He headed up the ladder to the galley and warmed up a bowl of soup, slipping the helmet off to down a bottle of water. He had no idea what time it was. Didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that they were safe, his son seemed to have more-or-less forgiven his transgressions, and his head felt a hell of a lot better. He took his time with the soup, his son occupied with sleep, Rayne occupied with the fob, and was somewhat astonished at how good the soup tasted now that he could actually focus on what he was eating.

He still felt woozy from all the blood loss and knew it would be a week or two before that went away, but his head was remarkably clear.

Sometimes you didn’t realize how broken something was until it got fixed.

He stepped onto the flight deck. Another five hours until they dropped out of hyperspace for the second time. They would coast a bit again, then fold back in. They would arrive at Methuselah in about a day.

He headed back down to the hold and joined Rayne at the table. The scrapes on her face were almost gone, responding well to the bacta. “How’s the arm?”

She sat back and looked down to the bandage wrapped just below the Rebel Starbird tattoo. “It’s good. Thanks for taking care of that for me.”

He shrugged. “I owe you a few. Stormtooper bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw the bruise on your hip.”

“Yep. Goes all the way from by butt to my knee, now.”

“Wanna fill me in?”

“You took two bolts to the back of the head, lost consciousness, and your jetpack took you on a nice little joyride before plowing you in the dirt. Gamma got you and the kid back to the ship. I got back a little late. Your kid had to pull me through the door and wound up throwing me into the hull on the other side.”

“Lost some skin somewhere.”

She shrugged. “Dodged a bolt and tripped.”

Satisfied that she was ok, he turned his attention to her work. “How’s it going with the fob?”

“It’s not quite what I expected, but it all makes sense. I’ll be able to work with it. The fact that it doesn’t work on the ship means I got the ship-scrambler right, anyway.”

He nodded. “You were distracted by something before we left. Said we could talk about it later.” He leaned back in his seat. “It’s later.”

She looked at the visor for a few moments, then packed up the fob and all of its pieces into the box she had procured for it. She got up, crossed the hold to the locked drawer he had given her, placed the fob in it, retrieved something else, crossed back, and placed an eight-inch metal cylinder on the table as she sat back down.

Din recognized it as a weapon, but one that he did not understand how to handle, so he refrained from picking it up.

Rayne seemed to look at it with trepidation, not quite knowing where to start.

“Start at the beginning,” Din prompted.

“I was raised at the Jedi temple on Coruscant,” she began. “Our first rite of passage was the Gathering. They took us to a temple where we faced our greatest fears, and if we succeeded, we were able to find our kyber crystal. We then build our first lightsaber around that crystal.” She nodded to the object on the table. “Despite starting early, I wasn’t all that promising, so they wouldn’t let me participate in a Gathering until I was ten. Up until that point, we’re raised by lower-level masters, and the clones hung out with us a lot so we could get used to them. They taught us some Mando’a. They called us _ad’ika_. We called them _ba’vodu._ The Jedi Order eschewed family, but the clones were our uncles. Some of us had favorites. Mine was CT-24EGL. Eagle. He called me _Mir’sheb verd.”_

Din huffed a laugh. “Smartass warrior. Fits.”

She was turned sideways to the table, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, turning a spanner over and over again in her hands. With few exceptions, she had not been particularly emotive in the short time Din had known her, but now her affect seemed especially flat, as if she was reading from a grocery list instead of talking about what was shaping up to be a pivotal moment in her life. He recognized her disassociation, remembered it in the other foundlings growing up, recognized it in himself from how he had described the droid attack on his village to her earlier.

“He never teased me about being a late bloomer. Always said it was better to wait until I was ready and do it right than try too soon and fail. So I finally went when I was ten. I faced down my worst fears, and I succeeded. A yellow crystal lit up in front of me and I picked it up. When we got back to Coruscant, Eagle was the first person I found and I showed it to him. He was at dinner late. I found him in the caf, and… he was proud of me.”

She paused again, turning the spanner over and over again in her hands, gaze focused on the floor.

“And while we were sitting there, eating dinner, talking about my first Jedi rite of passage, Order 66 came through.”

Another pause, and Din took a long, shaky breath.

“He had his helmet on the table and I heard it over the com. He… started to act weird. Something… the Force, told me to run, and I did.” Her hands let go of the spanner and it clattered to the deck. She brought her right hand to the top of her left shoulder, and Din remembered the scar there.

“Your uncle shot you.” His voice was rough.

“Yeah. One second, he’s congratulating me on the most important moment of my ten-year-old life, the next, he’s trying to end it. On a single order. No questions asked.”

She was still outwardly calm, but Din’s vambrace once more began to buzz her pulse against his wrist, sensing the increase in her heart rate. He’d forgotten to turn it off.

“I managed to get out of the caf and crawled up the ventilation shaft to wait things out. I listened to everyone else get slaughtered by the clones. I stayed in that shaft for three days until I thought it was safe to leave.”

“That explains the claustrophobia.”

“Yeah.”

“And the armor thing.”

“Yeah.”

Din suppressed a shiver. “Between my blackout and your phobias, we almost killed each other earlier.”

“I had it under control.”

“I’m glad one of us did.”

“Yeah.” She turned to face the table and picked up the cylinder. “Anyway. I had my crystal, so I eventually built my lightsaber. The traditional weapon of the Jedi.” She indicated the end with the yellow tape around it. “This is the pointy end. Don’t be on it.” She got up, stepped away from the table, and activated the saber.

Din tilted his head in awe.

He never saw a bright, noisy weapon that he didn’t like.

She moved through a couple of positions, and Din noticed how differently she handled it from the sparing saber, like she actually knew what she was doing with this one. She deactivated it and returned to the table. “I’ll give you one guess as to the one and only material a lightsaber can’t cut through.”

“Beskar?”

“Chicken dinner to the man in the shiny hat.”

He allowed himself a small laugh.

“You keep projecting a phrase at me. _Enemy sorcerer_. Why?”

“You can hear that?”

“You repeat it in your head all the time when I’m right next to you.”

“I’m… sorry. The armorer at Nevarro. She said the Jedi were enemies of Mandalore.”

Rayne nodded. “Our history is… complex. The short version is that many Mandalorian weapons, beskar in particular, were designed to thwart Jedi tactics, use of the Force, and lightsabers. Mandalorian weaponry is what it is as a result of the Jedi.”

“What does that mean for us?”

Rayne shrugged. “Only that you have a better chance at killing me than most.”

“I was thinking the same about you.”

She smiled. “That’s very sweet of you. The trick is, the two are not mutually exclusive. There was, at one time, a Mandalorian Jedi. Tarre Vizsla.”

 _Vizsla_. Din almost choked at the name.

“Like all Jedi, Vizsla built his own lightsaber. Being a Mandalorian, he decided to completely alter the design and make his a mashup between a lightsaber and a vibroblade. It became known as the Darksaber. It bounced around after Vizsla passed and was eventually used as a symbol to unite Mandalore. Have you heard of it at all?”

“No.”

“They keep you under a rock or something?”

“History wasn’t a focus in the Fighting Corps.”

“Well, you’re gonna to want to brush up. Guess who has the Darksaber now?”

“Gideon.” Din’s voice was ice cold.

“Yeah. I saw it on the news before we left. They broadcasted a video of him beheading three people with it. My lightsaber and your beskar are the only things we have that can stop it.”

* * *

Rayne came down the ladder after tucking the kid in his crate on the flight deck for the night. He was still wiped out from helping her heal Din and the emotional ordeal after that, so he fell asleep quickly.

She reached the bottom to find Din pulling his shirt off over his helmet and tossing it in the clothes unit, already shed of the beskar, boots, and gloves. He approached with caution, hooking one of her fingers with one of his own. “I… wasn’t sure what you wanted, tonight. I knew what you _didn’t_ want…”

“Thank you.” He was correct in that she had not wanted the shared ritual of removing his armor at the moment. As for what had come after that the two times before, though… 

“I… lost a lot of blood.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure I can-”

“Me neither.” She gave him a wan smile.

He breathed a relieved sigh through the modulator. “Will it be ok for you in here?” He indicated the cramped bunk.

“I’ll be fine.”

He slid in behind her, and the only light came from the control panels out in the hold. He lay a hand on her ribs, unsure of what she wanted, relieved when she took his hand and pulled his arm around her. Only then did it all finally come down on her, and he felt hot tears on his hand as her breath became ragged. _He was my uncle_. The words pressed into his mind, and he wasn’t sure if she’d meant to do it or not. _Why did my uncle try to kill me?_ She lost it, an angry sob tearing through her, and he could feel her rage buzz through his helmet. He wanted nothing more than to take it off so he could press his head to hers, provide the comfort she needed, at the very least, just be there without wearing the very thing she couldn’t stand to look at or touch in this very moment. He had to settle for tightening his arm around her.

He couldn’t imagine it, to not ever know his own parents, to eke out the most rudimentary kind of family, only for it to turn around and attempt to end his life. Her image of him at the foot of the bunk when she had woken up flashed into his mind, and he saw himself as she had seen him then, another armor-clad figure with a gun, ready to kill her. God, he hated himself for it, felt his stomach turn, knowing he deserved all the pain she threw at him tonight. “I’m sorry,” he said, his own voice wet with tears. “I won’t ever do that again. I won’t ever draw a weapon on you again.”

She had warned him about not making promises he couldn’t keep to his son.

It had not occurred to her to warn him not to make promises he couldn’t keep to her.

It was a promise he would break.


	6. The Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din, Rayne, and the Child take some time out to rest up and heal at a remote campsite in the woods next to a lake. What could go wrong?
> 
> Not much, actually. It works out pretty well.
> 
> Din works out a few sensory issues. The Child gets a name! Rayne is thrilled to be back at her favorite place in the galaxy.

_Can you see the stars that are assembled?  
When you held love tight remember how it trembled?  
So soft to the touch  
Don’t hurry so much  
It will come as sure as we are bleeding  
Let’s groove before the vultures start feeding_

Willy Porter, [Breathe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgCxsXmeVNA)

* * *

He paused at his door, listening as Alaria and her mother spoke outside.

“Is he good to you?”

“He is, mother.”

“It’s just that some of the foundlings are…”

 _Abusive_. He knew it just as well as everyone else. _The word you won’t say is ‘abusive.’_ Foundlings were often so trauma-ridden that they were unable to see anyone as anything other than an enemy. He didn’t _think_ he was that far gone, had sat through years of counseling, had learned to control his anger, had learned when and how it was ok to express it and when and how it was not. Had he slipped up without realizing it? A sudden knot formed in his stomach.

“He’s not. He’s very kind to me.”

The knot let go.

“That’s good. You understand why I worry.”

“I do.”

“His distance concerns me. He often won’t respond when spoken to…”

He could hear Alaira take a deep breath. “He means no disrespect. Sometimes he just doesn’t have the words, or sometimes he has too many and doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“It’s ok for him to say he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t like to admit that. He’s smart. He’s used to having the answers in class. Conversations are different for him.”

It made his heart ache to hear her defend him.

“I know it’s hard. Remember, you’ll be separated next year.”

“I know.”

He stared into the visor of the helmet he held in his hands. He knew he was damaged goods. The Mandalorians had done what they could for him, but in the end, none of the clans wanted a child who could only speak half the time and lost most of the fights he got into, so they’d had to place him in the Fighting Corps. He wasn’t built for heavy infantry. He was better at sneaking around. Long shots with a rifle. His hand-to-hand fighting still wasn’t great. He couldn’t quite fit in anywhere. Regardless, Alaria’s parents had always been warm to him, and he admitted that he didn’t really know how to respond to that. Part of him wondered if they only tolerated him because he would be separated from their daughter soon anyway, both of them sent away from their childhood covert to make their own ways in the galaxy. Because it would be easier for her to leave him knowing that everyone who came after would be a little saner, would be able to hold up a conversation, would be able to say the word “family” without locking up.

There was a knock on his door, and he slipped the helmet on before he opened it. Alaria stepped in, her mother already departed.

He didn’t deserve her.

But that was alright. He would lose her soon, anyway.

This was the Way.

* * *

Din opened his eyes.

He could just make out the back of Rayne’s head before him in the dim light.

_Don’t fuck this up, Djarin._

Alaria’s voice in his head.

That she had invaded his thoughts once already this week was bad enough. Twice was downright unsettling. The message was clear enough, though. Muzzle the anger. Give Rayne the benefit of the doubt. Remember that she was not the enemy.

At the very least, don’t give her a reason to Force-choke him to death.

Another knock sounded from the foot of the bunk, and he craned his head down to see his son clamber up and into the cramped space.

Rayne groaned and turned over onto her back, not opening her eyes until the kid flopped onto her stomach and burbled, driving the air from her lungs. “Ouh. Good morning to you, too.” She turned her head to the visor. “You awake in there?” Her voice was quiet.

“Yes.”

“Sleep ok?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah.” She hooked one of her fingers around one of his. “Today will be a better day.”

 _I sure hope so_. Fearing he would jinx it if he said the words, he instead broke her hold on his hand to bring his finger to rest with a light touch at her lips. She closed her eyes and returned the kiss.

* * *

The Razor Crest dropped out of hyperspace at Methuselah.

“Jawas,” Din groaned. He was in the starboard jump-seat, his son strapped to his chest in the _birikad,_ ready for what was promised to be a harrowing ride _._

“Yeah, I figured they’d be here,” Rayne checked the instruments. “The comp was a few months ago so they’re still picking through the wreckage.”

A hail came over the com in the Jawa Trade language. Both Din and Rayne understood it well enough. “Ah! A latecomer to the festivities. You plan on getting that tub through the belt? We gleefully await your foolish attempt and will enjoy the salvage of your failure.”

“Dammit. They saw us,” Din said.

Rayne responded to the hail in Jawa Trade. “Anyone make it through lately?”

Din tilted his head at her pronunciation. It was a lot better than his, though he figured negotiating with Jawas was a necessary skill for a mechanic.

A string of expletives came over the com.

“Did they just tell us to fuck off?”

Rayne smiled. “They did. And they’ll tell anyone who happens to come looking for us the same. We’re fine.” She keyed the com back on. “Yeah, yeah. I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed in the lack of wreckage I’ll leave behind. Prepare to be amazed.”

“You speak Jawa like a Tusken raider,” came the response.

Rayne cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and transmitted a decidedly Tusken-like bark/honk/roar/screech that sounded vaguely like “Fuck you,” as far as Din could tell. He made a slow, deliberate show of covering the kid’s ears with his hands.

Uproarious laughter came back over the com, and Rayne put the ship in orbit. “I love those little bastards.”

Sometimes Din wondered if Kuiil had come back from the dead to posses the enemy sorcerer just to annoy him.

Rayne called up a scan of the asteroid belt, nodded at what she saw, then swiveled the seat around to face Din and the baby. “We’ll need to orbit for a bit and map the field so I can study it. Might be an hour or so. You guys don’t have to stay up here if you don’t want to.”

“We’ll stay put unless he gets restless.”

She nodded and turned back to her work. Din sat back as much as he could in the jump-seat and read up on the unofficial “rules” of Methuselah as written by the few pilots who had ever made it to the surface. Most of it boiled down to “leave no trace” and “leave each other alone.” Harvest no more plants or animals than was necessary for personal use, don’t come within twenty miles of another camp without hailing first, don’t stay there for longer than two months a year, don’t build any permanent structures, and so on. The place was apparently a natural paradise, and everyone with the ability to get there wanted to keep it that way.

He was eager to see it.

Rayne worked with purpose, taking notes, winding recordings back to re-watch them, peeking out of the windscreen every now and then to confirm what the instruments were telling her, a soft mutter escaping her every now and then.

The baby dozed, Mythosaur pendant half in his mouth.

After almost an hour, she leaned back, stood up, stretched, and turned around. “One last trip to the vac tube for me. I recommend it for you guys, too. Then we’ll buckle in and head down.”

Five minutes later, they were ready, both Rayne and Din strapped to their seats, the baby snug in the _birikad_ tight against Din’s chest, Rayne’s goggles pulled down over her eyes. She commed the Jawas one last time. “See you in a few weeks, guys.”

“We stand ready to salvage your pre-Imperial engines the moment you shred them off your ship.”

“They scanned my ship,” Din growled.

Rayne smiled, spun the Razor Crest so it faced toward the planet, and fired up the engines.

Their movement was slow at first, picking their way through the outer edges of the field, Din and the baby quiet as per Rayne’s instructions so she could concentrate on everything around her. The plan was to predict where things would open up enough for the Crest to get through without much trouble, and thus far, the otherwise random movement of the asteroids did seem to open up a path before them as Rayne guided the ship through.

Her posture was alert, shoulders squared but arms and hands relaxed at the controls, feet steady as she eased the yaw of the ship to and fro to skirt the bigger rocks, head titled to the right or the left as she reached out and listened to the approach of asteroids all around. Just when Din was beginning to think this was going to be a tame ride after all, she stiffened in the seat. “Oop. Heh. Here we go.”

She pushed the ship into a steep, rolling dive, and Din watched as enormous, cratered masses zipped by, centimeters from the windscreen. His son giggled, ears perked up. They angled to port, and the engines roared once more, responding to her touch at the slightest provocation. Upside-down and right-side-up became meaningless as Rayne threaded the Crest through needle after needle, and the only thing that kept Din from screaming was what little he could see of the smile on her face.

She was born for this.

Once again, he realized he’d forgotten to switch his vambrace’s connection to her wristband off as it buzzed her pulse against his wrist. Fast but steady, and he watched her right shoulder as it rose and fell with her breath.

“Whoops,” she noticed an incoming asteroid at the last moment, banking hard and pushing it away at the same time, grunting with the effort. She remained calm as she swung them through a path she had not anticipated, and they came upon an enormous chunk of rock that seemed to have its own gravity, judging by the way she pulled back on the stick. “C’mon baby… c’mon baby…” she muttered as the g-forces hit them and all of their stomachs settled somewhere in their ankles. Din noticed the darkness creep in from the periphery of his vision and tightened his legs in response, determined to keep what little blood he had left in his head, regulating his breathing. They cleared the rock and Rayne pushed forward, lifting the g’s.

Back down into another dive toward the surface, and the rocks here were smaller. Din heard what sounded like sand getting thrown against the windscreen as Rayne rolled them through another patch, forcing out a breath as she threw most of the rocks out of the way. One still managed to catch the edge of the cowling of the port engine, sending a clang through the ship and rolling it to port just a bit. Din barked out a “Hey!” before he could stifle it.

“I’ll fix it!” Rayne barked back.

And just like that, they were through.

Jawa cheers came over the com, the entertainment of Rayne’s piloting apparently making up for the lack of salvage.

“Hah hah, yeah!” She pumped her fists in the air, unlocked the swivel on the pilot seat and turned it, and Din met her in a high-five that nearly took his hand off of his wrist. She turned back to face forward again. “Yes!”

Din took a deep breath as the baby squealed with delight. “Nice work,” he said.

“You’re goddamn right that was nice work!” She shook her head as she let the adrenaline subside, taking her feet off the pedals as her legs and hands shook. “Whew…” With an uncharacteristically unsteady hand, she brought up a scan of the planet’s surface. “Let’s see who’s here…” The monitor brought up five points of light.

“Only five other parties? On the whole planet?” Din’s tone was incredulous.

“Welcome to the club, guys.” She tapped at the display. “Yes… Oh, _yes_ …”

Din titled his head at her.

“My usual spot is open. And it’s mid-morning over there. We’ll have most of the day to set up.” A few minutes later, they were still at a relatively high altitude when they approached the coordinates. “I’m gonna do a spiral landing, if that’s alright.”

“Are you expecting anti-aircraft fire?”

She smiled. “No. Just want to expose as little wildlife to the approach vector as possible. And I don’t get to do it very often.”

“You got us this far…”

Just as they reached the coordinates, Rayne banked hard to port and put the Razor Crest almost entirely on its side as they corkscrewed down, shedding speed and altitude. Din looked to his left and watched the landscape spin around, catching sight of a long, thin lake with a clearing at one end, surrounded by forest. They leveled out as they approached the ground, and Rayne settled the Razor Crest at the edge of the clearing at the east end of the lake. Clearly forcing herself to not rush through the shut-down sequence, she counted herself through all of the steps as Din unbuckled himself from the jump-seat and loosened the _birikad,_ the kid squirming as he sensed Rayne’s excitement. She still managed to beat them to the ladder, sliding down the rails, and Din set the child down on the deck as she bounced on the balls of her feet, waiting for the ramp to open enough for her run out and jump off the end of it before it was all the way down.

Din reached the top of the ramp, watching as Rayne jogged to the center of the grassy clearing, did a slow spin with her face turned up to the sun, and collapsed to the ground on her back with a happy sigh. His son tonked down the ramp as fast as he could, followed Rayne’s path with his arms outstretched, and just as he launched himself at her, she caught him, lifting him up as he flailed his arms and kicked his legs, squealing with delight.

The sun was warm but not overly so, an hour or two before its noon zenith, at which point it would be partially obscured by the asteroid belt if the odd band of shadows in the sky were any indication. The sky was otherwise clear and blue. The clearing ended at the sandy lakeshore to the left, with a tall mix of old-growth deciduous and evergreen trees around the rest of it, the ship itself nestled on the shady side of the clearing.

Something in his chest tightened as he realized it reminded him of Sorgan.

He shook his head, doing his best to clear it of the memory, and descended the ramp.

When he reached Rayne and his son, she was still on her back, eyes closed, the kid sprawled out on her chest with a smile on his face. “Welcome home?” was all he could think to say.

“Yeah,” she said. “Listen.”

He closed his eyes and did as she instructed.

At first, all he noticed was the ticking of the Razor Crest as it cooled, cycling through its normal metallic cracking and snapping. As it subsided, he heard the breeze though the leaves of the trees. The lapping of small, breeze-driven waves against the shore. The up-and-down buzz of cicadas. Even through the filters of the helmet, he could smell the water, smell the pine, smell the unspoiled freshness of it all.

God, if the _manda_ couldn’t top this, he wanted no part of it. He’d chuck his soul in the lake right now if it meant they could stay here forever.

Ok, maybe not, but still.

He breathed it all in, filled his lungs with it, held it in as long as he could, then let it out in a slow exhale. “Yeah,” he said. “This was a good idea.”

* * *

They set up camp in short order. Chairs were placed at the rock-rounded fire ring, solar panels were unfolded, and Rayne swam out with the water-supply hose to anchor it forty feet from the shoreline. Din held his squirming son in his arms until she got back so they could test how the baby did in the water. He stood at the edge of the water line, yearning to shed the beskar and join her. He had been a proficient swimmer as a child, remembered enjoying the water, couldn’t really remember a time when he didn’t know how to swim. His life before the armor.

Mandalorians, as a rule, were not known for their swimming abilities.

When she returned to the shore, she stayed about ten meters out as Din freed the baby from his robe and put him down. The kid’s face nearly split in half with a grin, babbling a stream of nonsense as he ran to the water. The coolness of it did not deter him at all, and once he got waist-deep, he dove in, turned himself on his back, and paddled with uncanny skill to Rayne. “I guess we don’t have to worry too much about him drowning,” she said as he splashed past her, buoyant, ears folded back against his head.

“Is there anything in here big enough to eat him?” Din asked.

“No. Nothing venomous, either. Wolves and coyotes at night are the bigger issue, but I’ve already set up a low-frequency beacon on the ship that should keep them out of the campsite.”

He stood and watched as Rayne continued to spot the baby, then as they developed a game where she would duck under the water, come up ten feet away, tread water and wait for him to swim to her, then duck under again just before he reached her. It took longer than Din expected for the baby to tire, and when he finally did, Rayne guided him to shore while he could still do it under his own power. Din handed her one towel and scooped the baby up in another, feeling the coolness of his skin through the gloves, wrapping him up against the goose bumps and shivers, the baby still laughing and burbling through it all.

“He seems more talkative since we got here,” Rayne noted.

“Yes,” Din had noticed it as well. “He likes this environment.”

“Who doesn’t?”

He tipped his head in acknowledgement.

She wrapped the towel around her waist as he continued to dry the baby. “I’m gonna go do a little hunting after lunch. I can take him with me if you want some alone time. Go for a swim. Get some sun. Do something about that vitamin D deficiency.” A common problem among Mandalorians, he’d included supplements on his list for Rayne before they had left, but getting it the old-fashioned way sounded nice.

“Thank you. I will.”

They headed back to the ship, and Din tucked the baby into his crate for a nap while Rayne changed out of the swimsuit and back into her regular clothes. When she was done, she took a seat at the top of the ramp, looking out over the clearing, indicating for him to join her, so he did. “Glad we’re here?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“Head’s clear. Helmet fits the way it should, now.”

“Have a chance to look at your pupils yet?”

“They’re symmetrical and appropriately dilated.”

“Good. Anything else?” _Be honest with me_.

“Still tired. Back is sore. Ribs on my left side don’t quite feel right. That’s all I’m aware of at the moment.”

She nodded, understanding how things that hurt a lot could mask things that only hurt a little. Understanding that the bacta infusion couldn’t have possibly healed all of the damage that the cannon battery had done to him. “Sounds like someone tried his best to help you out.”

Din took a long, slow breath. “I tried not to let him. Pretty sure he managed it when I was sleeping.”

“Yeah. May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“I can give you a good once-over, tell you what I can fix, stuff like re-setting old breaks, soft tissue damage, that kind of thing. You decide what I fix and what I leave alone. Some of it will hurt, but you’ll feel better in the end. I’ll need skin-to-skin contact for it to work, but the helmet can stay on. I’ve already fixed everything from your neck up.”

He was quiet for a moment, gazing out into the clearing. “Sounds like cheating.”

“More like making up for the medical care you should’ve gotten but didn’t. I’ll leave normal wear-and-tear alone.”

“How long will it take?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, he was seated at the edge of the bunk in his shorts and helmet, Rayne seated in a chair in front of him, working her way up his left leg with her hands, her eyes closed. She paused at his knee. “Partial ACL tear, here. Low-grade, but it won’t heal on its own. You’ve been passing this limp off as a swagger.”

He tipped his head as if in confession. “Forgot about that. Yeah, go ahead.”

She shifted so his knee was bent at a slight angle and flattened her hands out around the bend of the joint. It had been not-quite-right for a year and a half, a little swollen, a little unstable, the result of a scuffle with a cantankerous bounty. Nothing a direct bacta injection wouldn’t fix, but it would’ve required a day of complete immobilization and he hadn’t wanted to take the time off for it. Now, he felt an odd warmth start from his skin, felt as it reached in, one tendril at a time, to the center of his knee, that hard-to-reach place where the ligaments crossed. The warmth turned to an itch as the fibers regenerated and re-knitted, and the ever-present twinge that had been with him for a year and a half melted away.

When it was done, Rayne opened her eyes and looked up. “Better?”

Din took a breath. “Yes.”

She continued up, pausing with her hand on the outside of his thigh. “You have some bone growth in the muscle tissue here.”

“Huh.”

“Happens with blunt-force trauma.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She moved on to his right leg, pausing again at the knee. “You’ve had the ACL on this one replaced entirely.” Only now had she noticed the three small scars made by the scope to fix it.

“Yes. I was fourteen.” A mishap with the Rising Phoenix training. No bacta for that one. He’d blown the ligament out so completely there was nothing left, so they’d had to fix it the old way – take a strip of the tendon over the kneecap and graft it back in to replace the ligament.

Her fingers slid around that tendon, then spread to the sides. “They did a good job. Screws are in good shape. You have some calcium deposits in the cartilage.”

“They told me that would happen. Doesn’t bother me.”

She smiled. “It bothers me when you go up and down the ladder – I can hear it crunch from the other side of the ship. I’ll leave it alone, though.” Her smile disappeared when she traced six thin lines of scar tissue running across his thigh, just above his knee. She opened her eyes and looked at them, not having noticed them before. They were old. Not quite as old as the ACL replacement, but almost. They looked… almost ritualistic. The cuts had been shallow – no underlying tissue damage. She looked up to the visor with a silent question.

The answer was just as silent.

Maybe another time, then.

She moved up to his right arm, finding nothing amiss until she got to his shoulder. “This was dislocated, but it popped back in again. I’m gonna guess this happened when you lassoed the TIE?”

“Yes.” He’d forgotten about that one, too, only noticing that it was sore once she’d brought his attention to it. “This one hurts.”

“Okay.” Again, the penetrating warmth, the itch, the relief.

She switched back over to his left side, once again trailing over the collarbone break she had noticed before. “This treating you ok?”

“Yes.”

She could find nothing else wrong with his left arm.

She had him lie on his back in the bunk, head facing out, so she could check his ribs. She was half-crouched over him, most of her weight on one knee next to his chest, her other foot planted against the bulkhead on the other side. She found the broken ribs on the left. There had been some dislocation that the child had not known to fix before mending the bones, and though he had fixed the surrounding tissue damage at the time, the malformed edges were causing some inflammation. “I have to re-break these. It’s going to hurt.”

He took a breath. “I’m ready.”

She flattened her hands against his side, eyes closed. “I am so sorry…”

Three crunching noises sounded from his chest followed by his strangled grunt, and his right hand came up to wrap around her thigh, fingers spread wide and gripping hard as the pain surged through him. She worked quickly, Forcing the bones back together the way they were meant to be, smoothing the splinters, repairing the damaged connective tissue next to them, repairing the damaged lung tissue under that, all while working against the long, hard breaths he was taking. She was done after a few minutes, and it took him another five to catch his breath and settle back down.

She tried to meet his gaze through the visor, but wasn’t sure if his eyes were open. “You ok in there?”

“… Yes.”

In truth, he was more than ok. The endorphin rush was starting to catch up with him. That pleasant numbness, both physically and mentally, nothing hurting, nothing mattering, that someone could bash him in the face right now with a pipe and he wouldn’t feel it, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care.

“Can you roll over so I can check your spine?”

“… Okay…”

He did as he was told. She started low in his back, where his spine joined his pelvis, pressing her thumbs along his vertebrae, until she found two that were fractured. These had pretty much stayed put, but the muscles around them were tight. “This one won’t hurt as much. You ready?”

“… Muh…”

She pressed down and forward, and a long, indecent moan escaped him as his entire body went limp. Were it not for the tidal wave of relief crashing off of him, she would have thought she’d paralyzed him. She reached back for the pillow currently at his feet and brought it out with her. “Want to roll back over?”

Another low moan as he pulled his arms in and pushed himself over onto his back once more, head rolling to the side with the weight of the helmet. “I… I can’t…” One hand pawed uselessly at the air.

He was well and truly stoned.

She lifted his head to get the pillow under him, then threw the blanket over him, making sure everything from his feet to his shoulders was covered. “All good?”

“… Uh huh…”

“I’ll head out with the kid in a few minutes and you can take the helmet off if you want, ok?”

“… Uh huh…”

She ghosted a thumb along the horizontal band of the visor, not quite touching it. “Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone.”

“… Kay…”

* * *

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he opened his eyes again.

He’d pushed the helmet off when Rayne and the kid left, hearing the ramp seal shut behind them, and settled once more into oblivion.

He felt almost nothing. His body almost weightless atop the bunk. The blanket nothing but warmth above him. Aware of the fact that there was almost nothing to be aware of. Only the warm darkness around him. All of the worries and anxieties of his entire life, of the last year in particular, absent from his mind.

He floated in that stupor for what felt like a long time.

Eventually, he was aware of his own breathing; long, slow, relaxed breaths. Then, he was aware of the knowledge of where he was, in his bunk, in his ship, parked at the edge of a forest paradise that he hadn’t had much of a chance to explore yet. Next, the dryness of his mouth, still dehydrated from the blood loss. Finally, the noise from his empty stomach was enough to drive his eyelids open and slap the light panel.

He pulled himself out of the bunk and found a datapad, bottle of water, pair of sunglasses, and tube of sunscreen on the chair. The datapad opened to a note from Rayne.

_Took the kid hunting. We’ll be back by dusk with dinner._

_Use the suncreen if you plan on more than half an hour of exposure. The specs are too big for me – you’re welcome to them._

_Have fun!_

He downed half the water bottle as he padded over to the ladder, hauled himself up to the galley, and downed the rest of it as he made a sandwich. He re-filled the bottle, then stepped onto the flight deck to take a look outside. A couple of hours had passed, judging by the change in the shadows, so he hadn’t lost too much of the day to being high on his own supply. The proximity sensors showed that nothing was around, so it was safe to head out without the helmet. With practiced ease, he got himself back down the ladder one-handed with his sandwich in the other hand and the water bottle tucked under his arm.

That’s when it hit him.

That’s when he realized on a conscious level that he was no longer in any pain.

He stood staring at the eye-level ladder rung, and his left knee felt just as good as his right. He could breathe without the hitch in his ribs. His shoulder wasn’t sore. His back didn’t ache. His head was clear.

He hadn’t felt this good in fifteen years.

He turned and padded back over to the portside exit, lowered the ramp, and for the first time in… ever? For the first time in his life, he stood at the exit of his own ship wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

Huh.

He stepped sideways and turned so his back was to the hull, facing back into the ship, just to the bow side of the exit. _No living thing has seen my face since I swore the Creed_. Never in his life since swearing the Creed had he had the opportunity to be outside in the woods and be completely assured that no one else was around.

Taking the helmet off in the desert, with miles of visibility and very little in the way of life was one thing. But in a forest? Where anything could be in or behind the trees?

Did the Creed include insects? Wild animals? Frogs?

 _Our safety is in our secrecy_.

Bugs and critters were unlikely to go screaming to the Empire about his whereabouts. Even Rayne’s bots were powered down and crated.

He was fine. Everything was fine.

Taking some time to get used to the idea, he sat at the top of the ramp and ate his sandwich, casting his gaze out over the clearing, having the sudden realization that he might be agoraphobic without the beskar. To be outside without the armor. Without any clothes at all, if he wanted.

He realized he was breathing hard and forced himself to slow down, finish chewing his food, take a few swallows of water.

Normal people did this all the time. He knew he wasn’t a normal person. He was a _Mandalorian_. He was supposed to be stronger than a normal person.

He finished his sandwich. He finished his water. He could do this.

He got up, refilled the water bottle again, grabbed a towel, and just for the extra challenge, removed the shorts. With zero hesitation, he flipped the towel over his shoulder, hooked his finger around the bottle, and strode down the ramp.

And then he cleared the shadow line cast by the trees behind the ship, squinting against the sun.

_Dammit._

He turned around, went back up the ramp, grabbed the sunglasses, and went back out.

Much better.

He walked to the beach, and, unable to resist, waded knee-deep into the water. It was cooler than he expected. From where he was standing, the lake looked long and narrow – about a mile wide at most. It must have gone deep to be this cold with the air temperature being this warm. He decided to get a bit more sun before going all-in.

He spread the towel out on the sand and was careful not to spend too long laying out. He remembered his one bout of sunburn as a child and did not wish to repeat it. He had to admit that it felt good, though. The warmth of it on his skin, working its way through his muscles and down to his bones, the light breeze making the occasional slip against his skin. He suspected that the feel of this much exposure would normally have driven him insane; only his lingering endorphin high kept him reeled in. He turned over a few times, glad for the sunglasses as he lay on his back, and then decided he was ready for the lake.

Oh, it was glorious.

He shivered through it until he was waist-deep and then dove in, swimming again for the first time more than three and a half decades. He slid into a crawl stroke, remembering how it felt to have the water flow over his head, around his shoulders, down his body, kicking through with his legs. It had always felt more natural for him to breathe on the left side, and he was a hundred meters out before it occurred to him to stop and check where he was.

Hoo boy, he was way more tired than he should’ve been, and he belatedly remembered that he’d almost been dead less than 48 hours ago. Forcing himself to calmness, he turned over on his back and did a slow backstroke to shore, taking his time, until he could reach the bottom with his feet.

He pushed back a little deeper just to tread water for a bit, to enjoy being in the water again, and surveyed the sight before him. His ship parked at the edge of the clearing, its silver hull incongruous against the lush forest around it, a simple campsite with nothing but chairs, a fire ring, and some solar panels to power the ship’s batteries for the extended time that the engines would be off. He spun around to look back at the lake, a strip of dark blue extending out to the west, high green hills rising on either side of it.

All theirs, for the next few weeks.

He didn’t entirely trust it. Two days ago, he was pulling an enormous amount of blood off the deck of his ship and hallucinating in the fresher. Today, he was sunbathing and skinny-dipping.

Amazing what a change of scenery could do.

How had he gotten so lucky?

* * *

Din had the fire going by the time the ship’s proximity sensors warbled an alert. Ten minutes later, Rayne whistled her approach before getting quite within sight, and Din flicked his wrist, the control in the vambrace signaling the “all-clear/helmet’s on” chirp from the ship. Rayne returned with the baby in the _birikad,_ a quiver of arrows slung across her back, longbow in one hand, and three field-dressed rabbits in the other. She lay down the rabbits and longbow before pulling the baby from the sling. “Have a good day?”

“I did,” he answered with a contented sigh, leaning forward in his seat to pick up the baby as he waddled over, arms outstretched, babbling and buzzing away. “He really is more talkative today.”

“He’s making up for having to be quiet all afternoon.”

Din nodded to the rabbits. “Looks like it worked.”

Dinner was ready half an hour later, and Din took his portion back to the ship. When he returned, the sun was setting at the other end of the lake, throwing the asteroid belt into a silhouette against the blazing magnetic field of the atmosphere, the lake sparkling below it all.

Din took the baby back from Rayne and picked up with feeding him dinner so she could finish her own. “How did he do in the woods?”

“Loved it,” she said. “So I, uh… thought of a name for him. If… that’s ok.”

Din lowered his head, hesitating on the commitment of it, the fear that once you gave something a name, once you had something to call it by, it was real. And when it was real, you could lose it. 

While the Armorer had made the bond between father and son official, the designation had come from outside him. Something not to be contested. While Rayne's suggestion was also outside of him, it was merely that. A suggestion. Something he and his son could agree on together, or not.

The kid deserved a name. Part of being a father was putting your own fears aside and doing what was best for your child. He took a deep breath and plunged forward. “What did you come up with?”

“Yadier. Yadi for short. Sounds like it fits with Yoda and Yaddle.”

Din remembered Yoda. “Who’s Yaddle?”

“She was the same species. Another member of the Jedi Council.”

“Yadier…” He turned the name over in his head, trying it out, rolling the R on the end just a little. He couldn’t say he was thrilled with such a strong Jedi connection, but when pronounced with just the right accent, it had a nice Mandalorian lilt to it. “That could work.” His son turned his head to look up at him and smile as Din said it, as if he had already decided. Din gave him a bounce on the knee. “How ‘bout it, kid? Yadier work for you?”

The baby squealed with delight and clapped his hands.

Yadier it was, then.

* * *

He puts Yadier to bed in his crate on the ship, and they watch as the asteroid belt drops meteors across the sky, a slow but steady stream of golden streaks fading as they fall to the horizon.

He asks if it’s like this every night.

She says yes.

She asks if they can sleep outside, tonight.

He says yes.

The stars glimmer in the magnetic field, and as the fire dies down, the fireflies emerge, flickering in time with the cicadas buzzing in the trees. He closes his eyes and he can still see the green flashes on the other side of his eyelids.

She’s so gentle with him. Something he is so unused to. She’s more sure of herself here, out in the open, the stars as their roof, and tonight he is the one who comes undone before her. She can see the color the sun has brought out on his shoulders, can smell the mineral hints of the lake on his skin, tastes it on the hollow of his throat, and leaves the longest, softest of bites as high up on his neck as she can manage.

This time, he is the one to whisper “Please” over and over.

He closes his eyes against the flickering green and her trembling against him, the feel of the Force once more gripping his spine, and he falls into the rush of endorphins and oblivion.

This time, she is the one to whisper “Thank you” over and over.

* * *

“Tell me about your husband.”

She was curled into him on her side, arm still thrown around him, heart rate not quite yet back to normal, his skin warm against hers, and she wondered about his timing of the question.

“You said a name that wasn’t mine. I assume it was his,” he said by way of explanation, voice soft over the modulator.

Oh. That was fair enough. “Hayes.”

“Yes.”

She nodded, gathering her thoughts. “He was flight engineer. We were stationed on an Alliance cruiser together. We worked on the X-wings. He’d diagnose the issues, we’d both fix them, I’d test-fly them.” She paused, letting the long-neglected memories come back. “Our ships had the lowest failure rate on the cruiser.”

Din ran his thumb along the Rebel Starbird tattoo on her shoulder.

“He was short – only a couple inches taller than me, mostly muscle. Dark skin, brown eyes. Tough. He hated being cooped up on a ship. Would rather be in the woods planet-side. He wanted to be a scout-trooper so he could run around outside all the time but it turned out he was really bad with a gun and really good at spacecraft design, so up top he went.”

She shifted her position, flattening her hand against his ribs, stalling on the next bit. Finding the words, she pressed on.

“We were in the back of the hangar when a TIE fighter smashed through the entrance and the field generator started to fail. Stuff was getting sucked out so we had to evacuate. The problem was we were in the middle of scrambling launches. We had about a hundred people in there. SOP was for the pilots and droids to get themselves launched and for everyone else to get through the revolving air-locks to the interior of the ship. Hayes spent a lot of time walking on the ceilings, so he was wearing mag-lock boots. He went out and dragged people back in. I hung on to a pole and hoped people wouldn’t notice that I was Force-dragging them back. He saved twenty-five lives before the floor started to de-magnetize. Last thing he did before it let go entirely was pull me off the pole and stuff me through the revolver. I was too tired by that point to pull him in with me. He saved my life, got sucked out into hard vacuum, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.”

Din’s hand tightened around her shoulder as he drew in a long breath. “An honorable death.”

“Yeah.”

Her tone wasn’t quite as flat as it had been when she’d told him about Eagle, her clone uncle, but close. He couldn’t tell if her shivering was from the cool air or the memory. He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders with his free hand.

“He knew you were Force-sensitive.”

“Yeah.”

“Was it difficult? Keeping that secret?”

Rayne smiled. “Not so much. It freaked him out at first, but the benefits outweighed the cost.”

“Did he know your name? Your real one?”

“Yes. He was the only one.”

“What happened… after?”

Her smile disappeared. She wondered at his curiosity, wondered if he would reciprocate if she probed him in such a way. She decided to test him on it in a bit, and went forward with her answer. “It was… unreal, at first. You wake up next to a person most days for ten years, get used to it, and all of a sudden they’re not there when you wake up, anymore. You start every day with an empty bed to remind you. Then you get to your station and you’re reminded again when someone else is there instead of him. Then all of a sudden, the war is over, you lose your home on the ship, part ways with all your friends. First year was the worst. By the end of it I was ready to put a blaster to my head. That’s the first time I did the comp here. When I was feeling… reckless. And then I actually made it through. Hung out at this campsite for a month and realized since his dying act was to save my life, I at least owed it to him to make that mean something, so I stuck it out. It did get better. A little at a time. Eventually you hit a ‘new normal.’ It never goes away entirely, but it stops sitting on your shoulder all the time. A while later, it stops surprising you – only comes out when you let it. Until five years later you’re in bed with a Mandalorian and apparently slip up with the wrong name.” She allowed the corner of her mouth to pull up a little. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Again, he brought his finger to her lips, and she returned the kiss. “I’m honored to be a member of your connections.”

“Tell me about Omera.”

He had already sketched the last year of his life out for her earlier, had already told her about Sorgan, how his first contentious meeting with Cara later turned into a partnership, how they worked together with Omera to save her town. Now, he gave her the details of that particular chapter. Omera’s kindness to him. Her daughter’s affinity for his son. Her own life of transition from soldier to peaceful farmer, a journey from killer to life-giver, a path to redemption, had touched him deeply. He had allowed himself to hope that maybe the same was possible for him, had almost allowed her to lift the helmet from his head and end it all. And then, the crack of blaster fire, the sharp reminder that he and his boy would be a danger to whoever they crossed paths with. And so, their departure.

“Will you go back if we can get Yadier to safety?”

Din felt the tension in his chest return, torn between indecisions, remaining silent.

Rayne slid her hand along his ribs. “It’s ok if the answer is ‘yes.’”

“I don’t know, yet.”

“What more do you need to know to make that decision?”

“Even if we find out where Yadier belongs, I don’t know if I can leave him there. I don’t want the things that happened to you to happen to him. I don’t want the things that happened to me to happen to him. I want him to remember me. That could take years to sort out. By that time…”

“A lot could have changed for her.”

“Yes.” He searched the tone of her voice, knowing she must have caught his omission of her from his equation, wondering what she thought about that. Getting Yadier to safety and proper training was the number-one priority for both of them. Moving his thoughts past that was a difficult thing for him to do. He also understood that she might not _want_ to be part of the equation. While this was an adventure she was wanting, she had a life to get back to, if she wanted it. She was ok with staring into the faceless bucket on his head for now, but at some point, if things went long enough, she was going to want it off. _He_ was going to want it off. The darkness would buffer them for a while, a loophole of her not actually seeing his face, but eventually… the future beyond that was a dark void, and he simply wasn’t ready to do the math on that, yet.

As always, her read on his confusion hit the mark. “One step at a time, Din. We take things as they come.”

* * *

The fireflies flickered. On and off.

The cicadas buzzed. Up and down.

The peeper frogs peeped. Peep peep peep.

_How do people stand this?_

Din lay on his back, assaulted by it all. The desert was easier. Most everything was dead and silent. If anything was coming after you, you could hear it coming. On Sorgan, the space of the village gave some distance from the cacophony of the forest most nights, and he’d always been clad in the armor when he was in the forest itself.

Here and now, he lay at the very edge of the forest, wearing only his helmet, shirt, and shorts, his armor and other clothes stacked in a neat pile by his side. Rayne lay next to him, similarly clothed against the cool of the night, her long, slow breaths of sleep indicating her complete lack of problems with this scenario. On a conscious level, he knew the low-frequency beacon was keeping the predators away, knew the proximity alarm would warble about anything that still managed to get through, knew Rayne’s Force vigilance would wake her if anything was amiss. He just couldn’t bring himself to trust it. Any of it. Not entirely. If he could just get back into the armor, have his sidearm handy, he would be fine.

Rayne would be a lot less fine if she woke up next to all of that.

He was exhausted, but he would get no more sleep out here tonight.

He extricated himself as quietly as he could, gathered up his armor, clothes, and boots, and headed back to the ship. He found Yadier only half-asleep in his crate, squeaking and squirming with his eyes closed. Remembering how easily the child had slept under the stars on Sorgan, he carried him back out to Rayne and tucked him in with her, and the baby settled with ease. He ran a finger along the top of one green ear, then along the curl of one chestnut lock of hair, and paused to watch the two of them sleep as the word “clan” ghosted through his mind.

He retired back to the Razor Crest, locked himself in the safety of his bunk, pulled the helmet off, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yadier is a Spanish name, which seemed appropriate. Its Hebrew root means "friend."


	7. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din learns more about the Force, comes to understand why he can’t trust happy thoughts, and gets to be the little spoon.
> 
> Yadier makes his wishes known. Rayne relives a bit more of Order 66 before she accepts.

_Let’s get together to fight this Holy Armageddon  
So when the Man come, there will be no no doom  
Have pity on those whose chances grow thinner  
There ain’t no hiding place from the Father of creation_

Bob Marley, [One Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdB-8eLEW8g)

* * *

Rayne woke up the next morning to find that a small, green, alien baby had replaced the Mandalorian in bed with her at some point during the night. She figured out what had happened easily enough and closed her eyes once more, enjoying the easy warmth of the morning.

Enjoying sleeping somewhere other than the cramped coffin of the bunk on the ship.

After another hour or so, she woke again to the sound of Yadier’s burbling, followed by his hands plastered against her face, followed by a string of nonsense words, one of which may have been a close approximation of “frog.”

Someone was hungry.

Taking the hint, Rayne opened one eye so she could poke him in the nose with a reasonable amount of accuracy. He replied with a giggle and a raspberry.

Breakfast it was, then.

She picked him up and headed to the ship. Din had left the ramp down, testing whether the beacon would truly keep the critters out. So far so good. Rayne paused half-way up the ramp. “Permission to come aboard?” She thought maybe she heard a mumble from behind the closed door of the bunk, so she figured it was safe to proceed. She saw that the door was, in fact, closed, so she placed Yadier in his crate while she stepped into the fresher for a moment.

When she came back out, Din had made minimal progress, getting as far as opening the bunk door and poking one bare foot out.

She tried to resist. She really, really tried.

She failed.

Light as a feather, she ran a finger along the bottom of Din’s foot.

He screamed. And, with the reflexes possessed of any self-respecting Mandalorian warrior, thrashed his way back into the bunk, banging every surface with both elbows, both knees, and his head.

She poked her head around the opening with a fair amount of caution to find him sitting, curled up in the back, tangled in the sheet. She didn’t need the Force to feel the glare pounding out from the other side of the visor. “Stop that.” His tone was snappish, and she couldn’t blame him.

She did, however, smile. “That was hilarious.”

He growled at her. Good god, he _growled_ at her. It took every ounce of self control she possessed to not burst out laughing. “Will you forgive me if I make you breakfast?”

“Yes.” His tone switched to petulant, but she’d take what she could get.

Breakfast was served, sins were forgiven, and their first full morning on Methuselah began.

* * *

She showed him how to use her bow and he took to it easily, as he had with every other weapon he ever touched. He walked into the forest with it in his hand, quiver slung across his back, following a game trail. After two miles, he saw a spot on higher ground with a clear shot at the trail, hiked up to it, and settled down, leaning back against a tree.

When it came to the basics, hunting game was much like hunting bounties. Sometimes it was best just to pick a comfy spot and let things come to you.

The air was still but pleasant, sunlight dappling the leaf-covered ground as it filtered through the trees. After several minutes, the birds began to chirp, having grown used to his presence.

It was… nice.

He still couldn’t quite get used to things being so nice. Still couldn’t quite trust it. _If it’s too good to be true…_

He took a breath, trying to shake the thought. Things would get real again when they left for Coruscant. Until then, he would try to stop looking a gift blurrg in the mouth and let himself enjoy things here.

A few hours passed. He dozed off a few times. The birds chirped some more.

A decent-sized deer trotted down the trail. A buck. Big enough so that it would be a pain in the ass to carry back, but it would see them through for much of their stay. Din waited for it to stop and turn its head away before moving into position, pushing up onto a knee and nocking an arrow onto the bowstring without a sound. He pulled back on the string and took aim.

He waited, taking note of the timing of his heartbeat, the slight bump of the arrowhead with each thump, the correction back down in between. He waited for the buck to turn and face him.

It only seemed fair.

When it did, he held his breath, corrected his aim, and loosed the arrow in the gap between the beats of his heart. He heard the thwack of it hitting home and the buck sprinted twenty meters down the trail before dropping.

The birds stopped chirping.

Din sat back and waited, knowing that the buck would take off if he approached it too soon and he would spend the next hour chasing down the blood trail of an adrenaline-pumped animal. Instead, he gave it half an hour to die in peace, knowing his shot was clean. When time was up, he hauled himself to his feet, pulled his knife from his boot, and descended to the trail. His approach was silent until he reached the animal. It did not appear to be breathing, but he called out a sharp “Hey!” just to be sure.

Nothing.

He field-dressed the deer, maneuvered it over his shoulders, and carried it home.

His thoughts wandered as he walked, pondering the economy of killing something directly to eat it versus killing someone, getting paid for it, then buying something that someone else had killed and eating that. If he had to be covered in blood, it was nice that it didn’t come from a body that had been talking to him five seconds ago.

Come to think of it, it had been a good several days since anyone had tried to kill _him_.

It was all very quaint.

He just couldn’t trust it.

* * *

Rayne was up on the roof of the ship when he got back, working on the port engine cowling that had gotten damaged on their pass through the asteroid belt. Yadier was in the middle of the clearing, levitating pebbles, his toy frog, and the large bearing. When she saw the deer he laid out by the fire ring, she gave a low whistle. “Your freezer big enough for all that?”

“Barely.”

“Steak for dinner tonight?”

“Yes. What’s the radius on the beacon?”

“About fifty meters.”

Din nodded. He boarded the ship, then came back out a few moments later with an arm full of plastic bags, a small vacuum pump, and an enormous butcher knife. He disappeared into the woods to find a suitable spot to process the deer somewhere beyond the beacon radius, came back, hauled the animal over his shoulders, and slipped back into the woods again.

Something about Din’s tone was off, and his posture was stiff, almost angry. Yadier seemed to sense it, all of his pebbles and toys now on the ground, ears flat against his shoulders. When Din disappeared into the forest for the last time, the baby looked up to Rayne, his question written clearly all over his face. _Don’t worry about it, kiddo_ , she pushed the thought to him. _He’ll come around when he’s ready_.

* * *

Rayne watched Din come down from the flight deck after tucking Yadier in for the night. “All good?”

He seemed to consider for a moment, hands clenched, then approached. “Can we have a word outside?” His voice was low.

“Sure.”

She followed him down the ramp, out into the night. When he continued past the fire ring and out toward the trail by the lakeshore, she understood the reason for their little hike – he wanted to be out of whatever kind of telepathy range Yadier might have. When they were half a mile away, he stopped and turned to face her.

A meteor fell across the sky, the fire of its passage through the atmosphere reflecting off of Din’s helmet.

“We have a problem.”

She figured as much. His mood hadn’t improved since returning with the deer. “What’s up?”

“I think he’s re-wiring me.” His tone was hard, touched with anger. “He might be doing it to you, too.”

She stopped to consider. “Could be. What’s your evidence?”

“I’ve been alone for most of my life. I _liked_ it that way. The day after I picked him up, I tried to hire Kuiil as a crewmember. I’d only known him for two days. I only knew Omera for a few weeks, but…” he shook his head, lifting his hand with his thumb and forefinger spacing a narrow gap. “I was this close to taking the helmet off and… changing everything about myself for her. Losing my soul for her. When Cara decided to stay on Nevarro, it stung way harder than it should have. I even… god… I even tried to talk a droid out of the suicide mission that wound up saving the rest of us. And now I’m standing here doing therapy hour with the enemy sorcerer I slept with after knowing her for less than three days and then convinced to leave her well-established business to guard me and my enemy sorcerer kid to get him home.” Frustrated, he turned and paced away a few meters, then paced back. “It’s not me. None of this is me.”

“Hm.”

“Anything different with you?”

“I did let a Mandalorian talk me into leaving my well-established business after I pulled the incredibly unprofessional move of sleeping with him while he was still a paying customer despite the fact that he’s wrapped in the one material in the galaxy that serves as Jedi repellent. So, yeah.”

He drew an aggravated breath. “You sound like you’re almost okay with that.”

“Getting someone to do something they really don’t want to do is hard. Yadi’s good at blunt-force stuff and simple healing, but it’s going to be a while before he can finesse getting someone to do a hard 180 without them knowing about it immediately. Pushing someone into something they’re not opposed to, or something they want to do but are holding back on, that’s easy.”

“You’re saying I wanted all this?” She could hear his Mando’a accent creeping into his voice, clipping his t’s.

“I’m saying you weren’t against it. Your situation demanded that you get more help from other people, so you did the reasonable thing and got it.”

“Yes. But I _liked_ it. I never liked working with people before.”

“Maybe you found better people to work with this time around.”

He shook his head. “Nothing else explains your change in behavior.”

She shrugged. “You did happen to catch me at a moment when I was bored and…” She bit back on the word “lonely,” uncomfortable with that admission on the heels of Din’s sudden reclamation of solitude. It gave her a moment to think back on the state of his brain structure when she had healed his skull fracture. She hadn’t had a lot of time to poke around in those moments, but had noticed the structural abnormalities that were the result of long-term trauma. She wondered what the best way to get at this was. “Did you like being alone before?”

“Before what?”

 _Before your life turned into a complete shitshow_. She tried again. “Would it surprise you to learn that a life full of violence can alter your brain structure in ways that make it difficult to form connections with other people, and you have those altered structures?”

He tilted his head, putting it together. “I’m following.”

“Let’s say Yadier is re-wiring you. Chances are this is just another form of healing. He’s not _manipulating_ you. He’s _fixing_ you.”

Din turned away again. “It’s that easy?” The words grated out through his teeth, angry. “Change the way I think, the way I feel, just tear out the old wiring and shove new stuff in? Like I’m some _droid_?”

“Did you object to it so much when the wiring was getting damaged?”

“I don’t like it either way. I don’t like being… programmed. I watched you talk Stormtroopers out of their orders. I watched you put an entire platoon of them flat on their backs. God knows what Yadier’s doing to me. I don’t like being in a place like this and feeling like I can’t trust it because it’s all too good to be true.”

“You had a few moments of happiness and you’re worried that what you’re feeling isn’t real.”

“Yes.”

She took his left hand and pulled his glove off, stuffing it in his belt. Closing her eyes, she brought his forefinger to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. After a moment, she took his finger in her mouth. His breath hitched as her tongue made promises he knew damn well she could keep. After a few minutes, she withdrew his finger, opened her eyes, met his gaze through the visor, placed his hand at her hip, and confirmed the effectiveness of her work with a hand at the hard length of him.

“That feels real enough.”

He turned and led her back to the campsite.

Hard. Soft. Warm. Tender. All of it real.

In the moments after, with all the impurities of doubt wrung out of him, he had gotten to the roots of his discomfort.

“I was… difficult, today.”

“Yeah, you were.” She smiled as she said it, and allowed him to pull her in close by way of apology. “Have it figured out, yet?”

“Yes.” His tone shifted to melancholy.

“And?”

He turned over, facing away from her but pulling her arm around with him so she was tight against his back, flattening her hand against his chest. She held him, feeling the air move through his lungs as he spoke of his childhood.

“The Mandalorians brought me to the covert and tried to place me in a family. They brought me to my new parents and I refused to speak to them. I already _had_ parents. They were dead. I didn’t… want anyone to replace them. They wouldn’t just let me… It didn’t work out. Didn’t work out with the next five families. So I gave up. Decided I wasn’t wired for it anymore. They put me in the Fighting Corps instead.”

She tightened her hold on him, on this man who had likely been stolen as a child, only to find himself unwanted by his captors, passed around, then placed into the very war machine that had stolen him and destroyed his wiring in the first place. If he had, in fact, been stolen, that he was totally unaware of it all… it made her heart ache to think of it. To know this piece of him that he wasn’t even aware of, to withhold it because she had no idea how to tell him, knowing it would break him in half…

“I didn’t want to pretend to be something I wasn’t,” he continued. “I hated it when they did it to me and I didn’t want to be that. I didn’t want the kid… I didn’t want Yadier to think I was… I tried to manage his expectations.”

“That worked out well.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah. I thought that part of me… the part that wanted a family… I thought that part of me was dead. Now it’s… back, and I… a different part of me hates how it feels.”

She held his hand with a gentle grip, accepting this part of him.

“I hate how it feels because I know I’ll just have to kill it again when I give him up.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. We have other things to do first that require you to be his father. Enjoy him while you can. People come and go from our lives all the time. It sucks when they leave, but that’s not a reason to pretend like they were never there. Life is better when you let other people into it.”

“You’ve done fine on your own for the last five years.”

“You understand how careful I have to be about who I’m with, right?” She felt his hand tighten around hers. It hadn’t occurred to him, but he understood when it was brought to his attention. “It’s not just about my own safety. Whoever else knows what I am... they’re at risk, too. Not a lot of people are up for that.”

He threaded his fingers through hers, realizing the implications of her choosing to be with him. She trusted him with her secret. She trusted his ability to handle the dangers that came along with connecting to someone who was a member of a group that was hunted to the edge of extinction. Qualifications that a vanishingly small number of people could meet. An exact reflection of his trust in her.

He finally realized that he wasn’t alone.

He didn’t have to be alone.

He didn’t _want_ to be alone. For reasons that made sense, regardless of what his son was doing to him. Even if this was Yadier’s work, he understood that his son was doing nothing more than trying to restore what he once had.

Again, he realized that you sometimes don’t realize how broken something was until it got fixed. Sometimes, when it got fixed, you were afraid to take it back out just to break it again. But after a while, you remembered what it was like to have it, and you realized you were so tired of life without it, and it was enough to make you take the risk with it once more.

He pressed back against her, his skin to hers, absent of his own armor but finally trusting the armor she carried with her all along. He drew in a breath, held it, and let it out in his response.

“I’m glad you’re with us.”

He felt her lips press against his spine just above his shoulder blades. Warm. Soft. “I’m glad, too.”

He made it all the way through the night with her under the stars.

* * *

They began to settle into a routine. A light breakfast. Rayne would go for a run, taking Yadier with her in his crate as it repulsed along behind her. Din would get some helmet-free time in the sun while they were out, then swim once he got warm enough. He would forage for greens and fruit when they came back and did some Force-training in the clearing, usually some version of Yadier Force-throwing stones at Rayne while she was blindfolded, swatting them apart with her lightsaber. After the first week, Din would pitch in with harder throws and bigger rocks, encouraging Yadier along. Rayne and Din would trade off with the saber so that he could get a feel for it, though they lacked anything capable of sparing with it. Rayne and the baby would follow training with a swim. After lunch, in the heat of the day, the guys hit the rack for a nap while Rayne picked a spot to meditate, sometimes in the forest, sometimes on the beach, wherever it seemed easiest to reach out to the Force and listen. Later in the afternoon, Din would sit in the shade at the edge of the forest with Yadier and read to him, splitting the time evenly between Basic and Mando’a, while Rayne would hole up in the ship and work on the fob scramblers. One more swim for all of them together before dinner, more of a wade for Din, not wanting to have to deal with a submerged helmet if he didn’t have to. Din and Rayne prepped dinner together, learning to work around each other in the cramped galley as needed, grilling over the fire whenever possible. Din still took his meals alone on the ship. After dinner, they would turn Yadier loose on the shoreline to splash around and chase tadpoles against the blazing sky of the setting sun, reasonably sure that he wouldn’t decimate the frog population on a full belly. The stars would come out, and sometimes the spotchka would follow, Din suffering through the ridiculousness of drinking it through a straw, something he would never do before anyone else. When the baby finally wore himself out, they took turns putting him to bed, bundling him into his crate and, most nights, put him up on the flight deck where he could still see the stars. Most nights, they lay together at the edge between the clearing and the forest, watched the stars turn, watched the meteors fall, traced the lines of strengthening muscle, and unwound in the ways they best knew how. Most nights, hours later, Yadier would reach out with his mind, and they took turns gathering him up to bring him back outside to snuggle in between them.

Rayne discovered that many things were, in fact, rituals for Din.

Beskar was inspected and cleaned after dinner every evening. Helmet first, by himself on the ship, and then he would come out to join her and Yadier for the rest of it. Gloves off, he would detach each piece, turn it over in his hands, run his fingers over every surface. Only the first time around had he found any damage that required attention. From the blaster bolts that caught the back of his helmet and backplates when they had made their escape from Rayne’s planet. The marks left behind weren’t so much damage as they were simply new cosmetic imperfections, but they did require treatment to render the beskar once more impermeable to the elements. A simple matter of polish application and removal. Deformities in the surface remained, but were sealed. Once passing inspection, each piece was re-attached before moving to the next. Every evening.

Next, the knife was honed on the days it was used, which was most. He floated the honing steel over his knees, running his blade over it from heel to tip, aligning its edge, the ring of it sounding out through the clearing.

The Amban hung unused in its place by the door to the flight deck. His sidearm only left its holster when disrobing. Even so, they were disassembled and cleaned once a week.

Even in the moments before intimacy, the reverent detaching of the armor, placing it in its drawer if they were on the ship or stacking it neatly if they were outside, held a sense of worship for him.

It all had a sense of utility about it, the care of these objects that his survival depended on. In contrast to the helmet rules and resulting disruption in meals, going through these motions seemed to calm him, bring focus to his thoughts, center his mind. Religion, in this manner, almost seemed to make sense for Rayne, who had abandoned most of what she had learned of Jedi mysticism with the exception of meditating on the Force, the only thing she could really feel, the only thing that bore evidence of its existence.

In this, the attention to the details of the tools of war and defense, the Mandalorians and the Jedi were not so different.

* * *

One evening, sitting by the fire after dinner as they watched Yadier splash around on the shore, their conversation drifted back to the issue of using the Force for mind control and influence.

“Would you like a demonstration?” Rayne asked.

Din tilted his head, hearing the challenge in her tone. “Maybe. What are the terms?”

“One easy one, one hard one. Easy one first. You tell me to stop as soon as it’s too much for you. I’ll have to take a peek in your head first, but I promise to stick to surface stuff.”

“Deal.”

“Okay,” she smiled.

“Actually, hang on,” he interrupted. “I’ll be right back.” He got up, strolled back to the ship, and went up the ramp. He returned a minute later and sat down with a sigh. “Ok. Ready.”

She laughed, looking out to the lake, unable to face him directly, and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “That was it.”

Again, the head tilt, followed by a slow turn to the ship, then back to her. “Seriously?” His voice was low, like he couldn’t decide if he was angry or amused.

But definitely not “pissed.” Absolutely anything but that.

“What?” She turned her palms up in innocence, laughing. “You were about ten minutes out from that anyway, so it was the first thing I found in your head. Thought the hard one might be better for you on an empty tank, so, you’re welcome.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. It had been frighteningly normal, and proved her point. He’d had no idea she’d pushed him into it. “Okay. I’m ready for the hard one.”

“You sure? You’re not gonna like it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Say ‘stop’ when you’ve had enough.”

“Okay.” He watched as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, head down. After a moment, his hands lifted of their own accord and moved to the sides of his helmet. “Whoa...” He fought it, fought her, and his arms locked up. For a few moments, he was frozen, battling against the unseen Force acting on his body. His arms moved again as he began to lose that battle, and his thumbs slid along the lower edge of his helmet. “Whoa, whoa, ok, stop.”

The Force vanished and he yanked his hands away from his head.

“See the difference?”

“Yes.” He took a few hard breaths. “How hard were you trying?”

She shrugged. “I was at about ten percent when you said to stop.”

He shook his head. He’d been at ninety-five by the time he’d tapped the brakes. Even when it came to one of his greatest moral imperatives, she could overpower him with ease. “I thought you said getting someone to do something they really didn’t want to do was hard.”

“Without them knowing they’re getting Forced, yeah, that’s hard. Making them think they’re doing it out of their own free will takes a lot of skill. I have a fair amount of practice with it.” He nodded, remembering how she handled the Stormtroopers. “I blunt-forced it with you just now so you’d know what was going on.”

“How hard would it be for you to make me think I’d want the helmet off?”

She didn’t answer immediately, seeming to consider. After several moments, she met his gaze through the visor. “Maybe we shouldn’t look into that one too hard.”

* * *

Din threw two handfuls of rocks at her, one after the other, Yadier doing the same. Reading their intensions, Rayne pulled the lightsaber through all of it, feeling the vaporized dust against her skin where the blindfold didn’t cover her face.

Din stepped back and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Rayne asked as she pulled the blindfold off.

“This is too easy for you. I’m bored.”

She smiled, deactivating the saber. “How may I entertain you instead?”

He did a slow turn, casting his gaze about the clearing, until he settled on the Razor Crest. He considered for a moment, then shrugged. What could go wrong? “Lift the ship.”

She lifted an eyebrow to start, her expression dubious. “No promises, but I’ll give it a shot.” She approached the Crest until they were about twenty meters from the port ramp, Din behind her with Yadier in his arms. Rayne closed her eyes , bowed her head, and raised her left arm.

She reached out tentatively at first, gathering the ship with the Force, feeling for the lift surfaces, the points that would best withstand the haul without tearing the ship apart. Once she had a handle on that, she raised her other hand, and began to lift.

Din heard the creak of the hull, heard the shift of stone as the landing gear unweighted.

Heard the snap of the primary com antenna as it broke off and went sailing over the lake.

“Dammit…”

“I got it,” Rayne countered as she reached out with her right arm, Force-caught the antenna before it hit the water, and brought it back. By the time it was in her hand, the ship had settled back onto its landing gear. She turned to face him and shrugged.

Yadier reached out to her, babbling a long string of nonsense, and Din handed him over after she set the antenna on the ground. Rayne took him, noting his attention focused on the ship. “I think he wants to give it a shot, but I don’t want him tearing the ship apart. I might be able to channel him through me. Between his power and my skill, we could probably do it.”

Din considered. Yadier had gotten stronger over the last few weeks; things that used to tire him out quickly now seemed to have little effect on him, just like any other kind of exercise. “Sure. Just don’t let him hurt himself.”

“No problem.” Rayne turned the baby so he was facing her, and she met his all-encompassing gaze. “Whaddya say, kiddo? Be my battery? We’ll lift your dad’s ship?”

Yadier smiled.

“Ok, then.” She held him in her left arm and extended her right, once again reaching out to the ship, feeling for the best places to pick it up, feeling the baby at the back of her mind, watching, learning, ready.

_Now._

The ship creaked once more and the landing gear groaned as a hundred tons of steel lifted off of it.

And the Razor Crest hovered ten meters off the ground.

Din’s face went slack under the helmet. His eyes flicked from his ship to his son, secure in Rayne’s arm, eyes closed, serene with his head tucked under her chin, his hands flat against her shoulders. For her part, Rayne’s eyes were also closed as she took long, deep breaths, working hard, but not terribly so, steady, solid. Din looked back to the Razor Crest, silent, floating.

“Ok. I’ve seen enough.”

Rayne exhaled as she uncurled her fingers and lowered the Crest to its gear with a gentle release. Yadier relaxed as she turned back to Din. “Still bored?”

“Nope.”

* * *

Yadier was having an absolute blast.

During the day, he loved the lake and swimming and the frogs and the sun on his face.

During the night, he loved the light and warmth of the fire and the glow of the fireflies and the stars in his eyes.

He loved when his father read to him and taught him words. He learned to call his father _buir_. He knew it wasn’t his father’s name, not like how _Yadier_ was his name, but it was what you called the people who took care of you. His father liked it when he called him _buir_. He couldn’t see the smile behind the mask, but he could feel it, and he loved to make his father happy.

He loved when his father’s friend took him for runs through the forest, to watch the trees flow by. He loved when she brought out the glowing sword and he could play with the Force with her.

Lifting the ship was _so_ much fun, even if it did tire him out. She told him maybe they could do it again later, but not to try it without her until he watched her do it a few more times. They were stronger than the ship was, and they had to be careful not to break it.

Sometimes they meditated together. This was less fun, but she taught him that this was where their power came from. This was how they could understand it better. Most of that sailed right over his head, but he understood there was something important about it. She told him they had to be careful, about not hurting other things or other people. She also told him to be careful about other voices he might hear, to let her know if anything reached to him through the Force. He knew there was more she wasn’t telling him, that she didn’t really know how. But he knew she wanted him to be safe.

And so he began to call her _buir_ as well.

His father took good care of him. So did his mother.

Her reaction was not the same as his father’s. She didn’t seem to know what it meant. She just gave him a puzzled smile and continued with the lesson.

That was ok. His father would help her figure it out sooner or later.

* * *

Din came down the ladder from the flight deck, turned, and saw them both curled on the bunk, sound asleep in the rainy afternoon. Rayne was on her side and the kid was tucked under her chin, tiny arms wrapped around her arm that was in turn wrapped around him.

He leaned against the bulkhead, thoughts drifting to earlier in the day, spent inside the ship on the one day of thunder and rain. She had been teaching Yadier deflection; Force-tossing tools through the air at him, having him repel them and hold them all aloft. He’d managed it until there had to have been fifty bits of metal hanging in the air and he’d dropped them all, collapsing with the exhaustion of fine-tuned control. He’d reached up to her, the word _buir_ squeaking out. _Mother_. He’d called her _mother_. She hadn’t understood it, thinking it was part of his usual babbling, scooping him up, calling him _verd’ika_ in return. _Little warrior_. “You did so well,” she had said, holding him close. “You’re getting so strong.” Holding him in one arm, she’d picked up the tools, showing him where they all went. “Next time you’ll be strong enough to help me put this all away.” The kid had replied with a raspberry. _Don’t get your hopes up_.

He called her _mother_. Of all the Mando’a she knew, the word for _parent_ was absent from her vocabulary.

It made his heart ache.

Now, she began to twitch in her sleep, the muscles in her legs and jaw clenching and releasing, her brow furrowing. She’d woken Din up in the middle of the night more than once with this kind of thing, claiming vivid dreams. Dreams. Nightmares. It was all the same. He watched as the kid managed to turn over in her grasp and reached up to her jaw with one hand, a tiny groan escaping his throat. She stilled a moment later, and the kid settled back down.

Din slid down to a lower rung on the ladder and sat on it, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. _He called her mother_. He was also apparently alleviating her nightmares. Had he been doing the same thing to him? Din thought maybe he had. _He called her mother_.

The only other person to serve anything near to a caretaker role to Yadier lay dead on Nevarro. Din had buried him himself. Kuiil had done his best to protect the child and paid for it with his life. Would Rayne pay the same price? Would Din have to bury her, too?

 _I’d have put your Amban through your throat_. Her words to him after knowing him for less than two days, if she’d discovered anything sufficiently nefarious on his ship. She hadn’t been joking. He had no doubt as to her ability to do it, either. She may not be a Jedi in title, but, dammit, she had it in her. Under the clumsiness and cover of a respectable living, the Force burned inside of her. It burned through her, and when he lay with her, shed of the beskar, he could feel it burn through him, wrap itself around his spine, creep up the back of his neck until it reached his helmet, held at bay there, surging at his throat, ready to blow his mind if he ever dared take the bucket off.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she was a warrior. Not a soldier; she lacked trained discipline. But she was strong. Fierce when she needed to be. His people had clashed with hers in the past, but for now, the two of them, together, could shepherd the little boy he had found to safety, the little boy that they both knew could be the key to saving this godforsaken shitpile of a galaxy.

She could more than hold her own.

She was worthy of being the mother of his son.

She was worthy of the signet Din bore on his shoulder.

_Three. We can be a clan of three._

The thought grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go. He knew it’d been there for a while now, its seed planted in his gut that first night he’d led her to his bed, wondering what the hell he was doing in one half of his mind, knowing damn well what he was doing in the other half.

Decision made, he took a deep breath, stood up, and went back up the ladder, wondering how exactly one went about inviting a woman with the blood of the Jedi coursing through her veins into a Mandalorian clan.

* * *

“Join me on the flight deck.” His tone was light, almost hopeful, and she wondered what could be so interesting up there.

She followed him up the ladder and watched as he pulled up a crew manifest. “You actually _have_ a crew manifest? How law-abiding of you.”

His only response was to shrug and step aside so she could read it:

Spacecraft Designation: Razor Crest  
Spacecraft Registration: [dynamic]  
Owner/Captain: Djarin, Din  
Engineer/SIC: Rollins, Rayne  
Passenger: Rollins-Djarin, Yadier

Her first response was a small laugh at his workaround for the ship not being registered anywhere and to make a mental note to investigate it further. Her second response was suppressing a snort at being second-in-command of the two adults on the ship.

Her eye hung on the last entry.

She took a long, slow breath. “Din, you can’t just-”

“Wasn’t my decision.”

“He decided on his own last name?”

“He called you _buir_ today.”

“He keeps saying that. What does it mean?”

“When he says it to me, he means _father_.”

Rayne froze. She was familiar enough with Mando’a to know that it was a gender-neutral language. So when Yadier had said it to her…

Din tilted his head. _You ok in there?_

“He called me _mother_.”

“Yes.”

“Did you teach him to do that?”

“Nope.”

Not trusting her legs, she sank into the starboard jump-seat, gaze focused somewhere outside through the windscreen.

Din took a seat in the pilot chair and swiveled it to face her. “You’re unhappy about this.”

“No. I’m just unqualified for this.”

He leaned forward, taking her hands in his. “You’re more qualified to be his parent than I am. You’ve taught him more about himself over the last three weeks than I have in a year. You’ve taught me more about him than I learned on my own in a year. You know what goes on in his head. You’ve taught him how to handle it all. You’ve taught him how to harness what he has. You put your whole life on hold to help him.”

“That makes me a good teacher. That’s not the same thing as being a mother.”

“I see how he looks at you. I see how you look at him. Don’t lie to me and tell me you don’t feel it.”

“That’s not… I’m not saying that.”

“What is it, then?”

She took a long, slow breath, elbows on her knees, pulling her hands away to thread her fingers through her hair and rest her forehead in her palms, speaking to the floor. “My first rite of passage as a Jedi… we each had to face our greatest fear.”

“Yes.” Din remembered when she had sketched it out to him earlier, how she had found the crystal that formed the core of her lightsaber. Unable to hold her hands, he placed his feet on either side of hers. “You succeeded.”

“… Yes…”

Her pause was longer than he expected. “What happened, Rayne?”

A long breath, in and out, followed by more silence.

“What did you see?”

“People dying because of my inaction. _Children_ dying because of my inaction.”

“It came to pass.”

A shorter pause this time, and her fingers bent into the curls at the top of her head. “Yeeaaahhh…” The syllable was drawn out, shaken. Another breath, and she continued. “The night we got back.”

“Order 66.”

He watched her nod to the floor. “I crawled through the vent shaft to the nursery. Where the toddlers were.”

Din saw where this was going. He pulled his gloves off and shifted off of his seat to take a knee before her, threading his fingers through hers while at the same time careful to avoid touching her with the helmet. “You don’t have to say it.” His voice was low and soft over the modulator.

“You need to know,” she responded, her fingers tightening around his. “You need to know that I couldn’t save them.” Her words were spoken around tears, now, apparently the one memory she had been unable to disassociate herself from, the one memory that evoked everything that came with it upon the first telling. “You need to know that I hid in that fucking shaft and did nothing while I watched twenty toddlers get slaughtered.” Her breaths came in long, shuddering draws.

“Hey…” He pulled her to him, not entirely sure what the right thing to do here was, knowing she didn’t like the feel of the beskar, not knowing if she would even notice in this moment, holding her there on the floor of the flight deck. “You were ten, Rayne. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“The way it happened… the person who did it… I’d fail again today. There’s no way I could save them. Even today.”

“Hey…” he said again, pulling away a little this time, just enough so he could look her in the eye. “It’s not just you anymore. Whatever happens next, I’m with you. It’s both of us. And Yadier’s not helpless. You’ve seen to that. You’ve protected us in ways no one else ever could. You’ve taught Yadier to protect himself. I will protect both of you with my life.”

She met his gaze through the visor, the blue of her eyes reflecting the beskar of his armor. “I never had a mother. I don’t really know how to be one.”

“Remember what you told me back at the hangar?”

That almost got a smile out of her. “I told you a lot of things back there.”

“You said babies need affection, to be talked to, played with, and loved. You do all of that with him just fine. You also said he was a good judge of character. As far as he’s concerned, you’re his mother. I’m not inclined to argue with him.”

Rayne stopped herself half-way through an eye-roll and smiled. “I never expected you to use my own words against me.”

“Easier with yours than mine.”

She flattened her hands against his helmet, just above the visor, and rested her head against them. He leaned into her, glad for her adaptation into the gesture as she breathed into it. “Well, that was the worst job interview I’ve ever had.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Offer still stands. Not sure the boss will take no for an answer.”

“What happens when we find his people?”

“Nothing changes. I’ll always be his father. You’ll always be his mother.”

She dropped one hand to the pauldron on his right shoulder, tracing the mudhorn sigil there. “Does it matter that I’m not Mandalorian?”

“No. You follow enough of the _Resol’nare_ to qualify.”

“Six Acts?”

“Six Actions. First is to wear armor. You carry yours around in the form of the Force all the time. Next is to speak Mando’a. Defend yourself and your family. Contribute to the clan. Raise your children as Mandalorians. Fight for the cause of Mandalore.”

“About those last two…”

“Four out of six is fine. Our clan, our rules.”

“So this makes me part of the clan?”

“Yes.”

He watched as she closed her eyes, forehead still against her hand against his helmet. Waited as she worked through the implications. “Is this… is this all from him, or…”

“I want it, too. We both want you in our family.”

He watched as her lips formed around the last word, appearing to have as much trouble saying it out loud as he used to. With a final sigh, she sat up, meeting his gaze. “Where do I sign?”

“Nothing to sign. Just say the words of the _gai bal manda_.”

“Name and soul.”

“Yes.”

“What are the words?”

“ _N_ _i kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.”_ Din took a sharp breath, suddenly realizing that perhaps when he had spoken the words to his son, sometime during those first delirious days after Nevarro, they may not have counted. “And then you say his name. _”_

He watched again as Rayne’s lips traced over the translation. _I know your name as my child_. “Um… Din…”

He took a long, deep sigh. “Yeah. I think I need a do-over.”

They descended the ladder to find Yadier in his crate, sitting up and playing with his rubber frog. He reached up, asking to be held, the word “ _Buir?_ ” squeaking out of him.

Din picked him up and sat on the edge of the bunk with him in his lap while Rayne went to the back of the hold to retrieve a chair. “I screwed up last time, kiddo,” he said. “This only works if you have a name.” He waited for Rayne to get settled. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Din took a breath, running a finger along his son’s ear, feeling something tighten in his chest as the baby looked at him with those enormous eyes. “ _N_ _i kyr'tayl gai sa'ad,_ Yadier.” He brought his forehead to the baby’s, holding him there for a moment before pulling back.

Yadier looked up at him and smiled, burbling. “ _Buir!_ ”

Din tilted his head and nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Your turn.” He handed her his son.

Rayne held him in her lap, regarding him with a serious expression. “Your dad says you want me to be your mom. You sure about this?”

“ _Buir!_ ” he repeated, looking directly at her.

“All right then.” She looked up to Din for a moment. He remained still. Silent. Sensing no objection, she looked back down to the kid. “ _Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad,_ Yadier.” Following Din’s lead, she placed a kiss at the top of her son’s head.

And just like that, Rayne was a mother.

They were a family.

Din saw that his hands were shaking and he clenched his fists on his knees. After all the families that had declined him as a child, after instead being raised in the Fighting Corps, after believing for so long that he was incapable of having a family, incapable of being a father, destined for a solitary existence, now, finally, at an age where many Mandalorians who survived this long were just reaching the grandparent stage, he had a son of his own. He was a father. His son had a mother.

Rayne laughed. “We’re in our mid-forties and our son is six years older than we are.”

Din sighed. “He better grow up quick.”

* * *

The next day, he handed her a bullet casing, clearly ornamental, made of beskar, strung on a short length of leather. “Open it,” he said.

She unscrewed the flat end and pulled out the contents.

A small lock of hair, dark brown, almost black, bound with a black elastic, just long enough to betray a loose curl. She held the elastic end in one hand as she ran the fingers of the other along the length of it. Feeling how soft it was.

“I thought it might even the score a little,” he said.

She slipped the lock back into the casing and closed it. “Finally cut your hair.” She smiled.

“I did.”

“Thank you,” she said as she fastened the leather around her neck, the casing lying just below the hollow of her throat.

He tilted his head at the sight of her wearing beskar, understanding what it meant for her to accept it, to wear it against her skin. He hooked one of his fingers around one of hers. “Thank you for wearing it.”

She ran her free hand through what had become shaggy lengths on the back of her head. “Mine’s getting too long, too.”

“You can borrow my clippers if you want.”

“I’ve never done it myself.”

“I can do it,” he offered.

Her expression was dubious.

“I can’t promise I’ll do it _well_ ,” he clarified. “You keep yours shorter than mine and I’ve been doing this for thirty years.” He shrugged.

“Oh, what the hell.”

Five minutes later she found herself standing in the middle of the hold of the ship, naked so that she wouldn’t get her clothes full of hair, Din running his clippers up the back of her head. He took two passes, pulled the clippers away, and paused. “Huh. Woops.”

“ _What?”_

“Kidding.”

She sighed.

“You deserved that for tickling me.”

“You hold a grudge, don’t you?”

“I do.” His tone held a smile, though, and when he was done, she checked the results in the mirror in the fresher.

Not a terrible job, all things considered.

He swept up while she got dressed, and when she returned, he was holding one of her locks, already bound in elastic. “May I keep this?” he asked.

Her expression clouded over, thinking back to the Padawan braid she never had the chance to grow out, never had the chance to sever had she ever made it to become a Knight. Something that might have otherwise happened about twenty years ago. Would she have kept it? Would she have given it to him in this moment?

He mis-read her pause. “Is this creepy? This is creepy. I’m s-”

“No, it’s fine.” She smiled. “You just get to see it every day.”

“I… should have explained. Mandalorian parents exchange these when they adopt children or bear their own. Makes up for the helmet.”

 _No, it doesn’t_. “So, even when they’re married, they don’t…”

“No. Only in the dark. Our secrecy is our survival.” He paused, lowering his gaze to the second casing he had pulled out, turning it over in his fingers. “This is the Way.”

 _This is insane_. Of course he was raised with the most fundamentalist upbringing Mandalore could possibly cook up in its stew of civil war and political factions. Of course the product of such upheaval would come to adopt the most powerful Force user in the galaxy. It made his admission of her into their clan all the more remarkable.

“Yes, you can keep it.”

“Thank you.” His tone was quiet as he slipped the lock of her hair into the casing and strung it around his neck, tucking it under the cowl.

Din had missed the weight of the Mythosaur, had missed the press of beskar against his throat. Having it back again felt good.

For so long, he thought he would never wear such a thing. A _buir’ruk_. A parent stone. A vessel containing a small piece of the mother of his son. It grew warm against his skin in seconds, and he hooked one of Rayne’s fingers with one of his own, head still bowed. “Thank you,” he repeated.

She took his other hand in hers. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.

* * *

Last day.

Rayne had completed and tested the fob scramblers with success. Yadier’s was embedded into the back of the Mythosaur pendant. Din’s was wired into the inside of back of his helmet.

They were free.

Din was sitting in the shade, a small can of paint at his foot, chestplate in his lap as he brushed red paint onto it. Earth-toned red. The color of his old armor. The color of dried blood.

Rayne brought her own chair into the shade and sat before him. “What’s up?”

“Bare beskar would be too conspicuous on Coruscant. Camouflage is in order.”

“Does the color mean anything?”

“Yes.”

He let the silence stretch for a while as Rayne watched him work. She didn’t press him to elaborate. When he was done with the chestplate, he set it aside to dry, and picked up his left thigh guard. “Red is in honor of my parents.” His tone was soft.

“Would you like any help?”

“No, thank you.” He pulled the brush through the length of the guard. “But I would like you to stay.”

“Okay.”

She stayed with him for the next hour as he bent over the armor and painted. Quiet.

Together.

* * *

Their last night on Methuselah. The sky rained down with meteors. The fireflies blinked. The cicadas buzzed. The frogs peeped.

She lay in his arms, under the stars, thinking of the number six.

The _Resol’nare._ The Six Actions.

The scars of six thin lines above his knee.

The scars in his mind, not quite healed over, but better than they were.

She wondered. How much he had taken.

How much more he could yet stand to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend mentioned the likelihood that the Child is able to manipulate people, explaining why Din and Peli tended toward giving him bone-based foods, because who gives that kind of thing to a baby otherwise? Some of this chapter came from that conversation.
> 
> I’m not sure about when the next chapter will be posted. I’m undecided about getting through more of this season of Clone Wars and how the Night of a Thousand Tears goes down before writing, so we’ll see how things go. Fear not! Lots more is on the way.


	8. The Core

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rayne brings Din and Yadier to Coruscant to meet some old friends who can help them on their way. Turns out one of them is Rayne’s ex. And Din had a run-in with the other several years prior…
> 
> But it’s fine. Really. It’s fine.
> 
> Rayne pulls off a little espionage. Din gets to tune up his Amban.
> 
> Din struggles with closing the triangle of his family and learns a lesson on the value of life-long friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, this is not the chapter I’d expected to post this week at all, but I realized how much setting up I needed to do for the next one.

_I’ve been away and I’ve seen too much  
Looks like I’ve been moving on as well  
And when I started to not really belong  
I suppose I was unable to tell  
But I ain’t sad and no it isn’t bad  
It’s just one more thing I’m coming to know_

Blues Traveler, [Back in the Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5_75d8AI7M)

* * *

Din settled down in his seat on the flight deck with his breakfast and coffee, helmet on the console, the blue and white ripples of hyperspace streaking by over his head.

Leaving Methuselah had been difficult. He was going to miss it, and the look on Rayne’s face as the ramp closed for the final time nearly broke his heart. He’d brushed the back of her hand with his and blurted out “Maybe we could come back sometime,” before he’d even known the words were in his head.

It wasn’t like him to blurt.

It particularly wasn’t like him to blurt out sentences containing the word “we” with regard to future commitments, but he’d gone and done it.

Her response had been even enough, that half-smile of hers as she met his gaze. “Maybe.”

Methuselah had left its mark on all of them. Din took his gloves off to reveal hands that were a proper golden brown again, a color he hadn’t been since his last summer before… before. Rayne found a great deal of amusement in the fact that the only tan lines he had were on his temples from the sunglasses she’d given him, even if she had to take his word for it. For her part, Rayne had gotten a few shades darker, her hair a few shades lighter. They’d both put on a few pounds of muscle. Even Yadier had taken on a brighter, more vibrant shade of green. Neither one of them had any idea if that was actually ok; the kid looked almost radioactive, but he showed no indication of peeling or discomfort, so they fed him one last frog for the road and called it good.

Din ate his breakfast, listening to Rayne and Yadier exchange in their own way as they ate theirs below, through the closed door of the flight deck. He’d heard adults speak to children before, but the conversation between his son and his son’s mother was nothing like those at all.

“Yes, we brought some frogs with us.”

“Brrrpllllp.”

“They’re more of a lunch thing. You do better when you have the green stuff for breakfast.”

“Eh! Rrrraaaallllll.”

“No, you shouldn’t eat the wrench. Remember what happened last time?”

“Heeheehee.”

“Funny for you, maybe. Your dad was furious. I had to bill him extra to replace it. No way I was gonna use that one again.”

“Mmmm eh brrreep!”

“Yeah, you can float the other tools after breakfast. Your record is fifty. We’ll see if we can get you a new PR today.”

“Thhhh, _buir_!”

“We’ll go up and bug him once he’s done eating.”

Din sipped his coffee as he considered the ridiculous pragmaticism going on in the hold below, the things a parent had to negotiate with a Force-sensitive toddler who thought frogs were the most delicious things in the entire galaxy and could lift a starship when properly directed. Rayne just rolled with it like it was nothing.

Rayne…

They’d arrived on Methuselah as father, son, and… engineer/tutor/whatever long list of Force-sensitive sorcery she was, and had left the planet as father, son, and mother.

An actual family.

An actual _clan_.

It still seemed unreal to him as he brought a hand up to the cowl, feeling the beskar casing underneath it, against his throat.

The bonds between the son and his mother and father were unquestioned. Din was bound to him through honor, creed, and shared saving of lives. Rayne was bound to him through the Force.

What, exactly, held Yadier’s parents together?

Din’s gaze fell to his almost-empty cup, swirling the contents around.

They were bound by an ancient history of struggle. Everything about his training, everything about his armor, everything about The Way was in direct opposition to everything she was capable of and everything the Jedi believed. His people had gained strength in the face of hers, but hers had not backed down.

At the same time, they were both victims of Empire pogroms, both the survivors of their respective purges. Order 66 was an amplified echo of the Night of a Thousand Tears. As sparse as the Mandalorian diaspora was, at least it was viable. The Jedi Order was wiped out entirely, and Force-sensitives were, apparently, vanishingly few. The Empire was their mutual enemy. It had taken everything from them.

Now, its remnant threatened their son.

He wondered if the opposing strengths of the Mandalorians and the Jedi could be brought together. It had been done before, at least in the form of Tarre Vizsla. Could two people with opposing but complementary skillsets form a new Way?

He backed away from the thought. It wasn’t his place to question his path. Rayne had done it, had tossed much of the Jedi dogma out the window, but she had no one else to hold her to it. Din still had… somewhere out there… he had others of his kind to hold him to the Creed. He’d still sworn his soul to the _manda_. That was a done deal.

Despite (or because of?) all of these complexities, many things between them clearly worked well. Really, really, well. He allowed himself a smile as he looked back up to the windscreen, watching the flow of hyperspace once again. They’d been together for just over a month, now. The fact that Rayne had adopted his son so quickly was way more than he had ever expected. Hoping for anything more at this point felt like over-reaching. He was content with what they had now, even if he couldn’t put a name to it, and he wouldn’t push it any harder.

The fact that he was content at all was startling.

He downed the rest of his coffee, slid the helmet back on, and opened the door so the rest of his family could join him if they wished.

* * *

“So who exactly are we meeting on Coruscant?”

Din was in his seat, swiveled back so he could watch Rayne and Yadier Force-toss the bearing between them from the port and starboard jump-seats, respectively.

“Their names are Zavin Reps and Reesha Shalente.” Rayne let the bearing bounce in the air for a bit before tossing it back to Yadier. “They have space for the Razor Crest at their residence, so we won’t have to worry about docking records.”

“Is that safe?”

“Reesha is an intelligence officer with the New Republic. She won’t be questioned.”

Din gave a long exhale, crossing his arms over his chest, indicating everything Rayne needed to know about his confidence in the New Republic.

Rayne gave him a sidelong look. “She was also a Fulcrum during the Rebellion. She’s the reason I’m even able to function in society at all. She set me up with a chain code during the war.”

“You didn’t have one before?”

“I had one that was on record at the Jedi temple. It’s tied to my real name. I’d have gotten executed within three hours of using it for decades after Order 66. It would probably still be a horrible idea to use it. Rayne Rollins didn’t officially exist until twelve years ago.”

Din gave a conciliatory shrug. “So they know you’re Force-sensitive.”

“Yes. She has access to Jedi records that might point us in the right direction to find Yadier’s people. The tough part will be pulling shenanigans to cover the fact that we’ve accessed the records, but we’ll nail that down when we get there.”

“And Zavin?”

“Reehsa’s husband. He works in starship design.” Her tone was hesitant.

Din took the bait. “And…”

Rayne took a measured breath. “An ex.”

“Hm.”

“It’s fine. We were friends for a few years before we got more serious. We joined the Rebellion together. He actually introduced me to Hayes a few months after we broke up. I introduced him to Reesha. It all worked out.”

“Why the breakup?”

She gave him A Look.

“I need to know what I’m getting into,” Din responded.

She broke his gaze with a “fair enough” shrug. “He… didn’t feel the same way about me that I felt about him. He’s… honest, though. Even when the truth hurts. I always know where I stand with him.” She looked back over to Din. “You will too.”

“Can he take what he dishes out?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’ll be fine.”

Except it wasn’t quite fine. Zavin was alive and Hayes was dead. Zavin still had Reesha and Rayne had… a brand-new wayward alien baby son and his Mandalorian dad. She had turned back to face Yadier, and Din realized that she knew how precarious her position in his life was. How circumstances had continuously removed people from hers, if not completely, then at least from places she would rather have kept them. And he had put her in the position to lose again, had asked her to adopt his son with him, knowing full well they would have to give him up.

Would he exit her life at that point as well?

Would she even want him around after losing their son? A reminder of a part of her life that she would never get back?

He shook his head, trying to focus. “What do they know about us?” He knew Rayne had gotten a message back from them earlier in the day.

“They know I’m with the _Mando from Nevarro_ – you’re apparently a thing, now. They know that Yadier is the same species as Yoda. I don’t know if Reesha’s figured out your name yet.”

“Let’s stick with Mando unless they make it clear that they know it.”

Rayne nodded.

* * *

The Razor Crest dropped out of hyperspace at Coruscant. Rayne was in the starboard jump-seat with Yadier strapped to her in the _birikad_. She watched through the windscreen as Din guided the ship to the coordinates, watched the unbroken cityscape slip by, watched the ruins of her childhood home rise up around them as they dropped altitude. The baby burbled as she ran an absent finger along his ear, sensing his mother’s unease.

Din was unused to the heavy traffic of a core planet, but he was able to slide the old gunship into the lanes regardless. He landed when they reached their destination, peering out with uncertainty as the Crest settled on its gear. They were parked on one of the higher towers in the area, and the structure before them was an opulent, glass and steel-frame home. An awning extended over the Crest to obscure the view of it from above. “Are we in the right place?”

“Yep. Welcome to the club, guys.”

So many clubs, lately.

Zavin and Reesha were approaching the ship as Rayne lowered the ramp. She waved as soon as she was visible, and started walking as soon as it was down, Din a few paces behind her.

“Oh, shit.” His voice was just barely audible over the modulator.

“What? What’s wrong?” She turned back to face him.

“It… might be nothing. Just fly casual.”

“Ookaaay.” She turned and continued, but noticed that Din had slowed his pace.

“Rayne!” Reesha’s greeting was open-armed and warm. She knew that Rayne wasn’t much of a hugger, but she hugged her and the baby anyway. “It’s been too long.”

It had been three years. “Yeah, I guess it’s been a while.”

Zavin kept his distance, hands in his pockets. He gave her a nod. “Good to have you back.”

She returned the nod. “Good to be back.”

Reesha took a step back to get a good look at Yadier. “And this is your son.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I never pegged you as the mothering type.”

Rayne shrugged. “Still not, but I made an exception for this guy.” She patted the bundle and he looked up at her and smiled, a quiet “ _buir”_ purring out of him.

Reesha ran a finger along his ear and he burbled. “Well, we’ll try and get things figured out for you, little guy.”

Din hung back, raking through his memory. Reesha was familiar, and not in a good way. Dark skin, almond-shaped eyes, tight curls, high cheekbones, willowy build, on the tall side. He’d seen her before… she’d been a bounty. Oh, god no… she’d been the New Republic bounty he’d picked up four years ago, strict orders to bring her in warm, a request not to put her in carbonite if possible, but he’d been low on rations so he’d had to freeze her anyway. The whole thing had seemed off, somehow. So far off that he’d left that Guild contract entirely a week later, transferred out of the local covert and gone to a different system altogether.

Now here she was, his son’s mother’s ex-boyfriend’s wife.

Sometimes the galaxy was just too goddamn small.

Reesha caught sight of him, tilting her head. She spoke to Rayne in measured tones. “This is the Mandalorian from Nevarro?”

“Yeah.”

“His armor. It’s different from what he looked like in the news footage.”

“He just painted it.”

“I see.” Reesha stepped around Rayne and approached the Mandalorian before her, the Mando in russet-red armor. The armor itself was different, significantly upgraded, but the color was the same. The head-tilt was the same. The way he carried his arms away from his body was the same. The boots with the disruptor shells just below his right knee. All the same. She came to within two meters of him and stopped. “Do you remember me?”

“… Yes.”

His voice was the same.

He was the one.

Rayne mouthed a “What is going on?” to Zavin. He seemed to consider for a moment before a look of recognition appeared on his face. He replied with a small smile and a wink. _Hang on and watch_.

“How much did they pay you?” Reesha directed to Din. “What was the price of my capture?”

“Your bounty fed three foundlings for a year.”

“… What?”

“Plus a month’s worth of fuel. You were worth a lot to somebody.” The same, surprisingly soft tones from before.

She smiled. “That’s good.”

“… What?”

“Come in, please. I’ll explain.” Reesha took Rayne’s arm as she passed by and guided her inside. “You sure know how to pick them.”

“Yeah, he sorta picked me.”

“Doesn’t look like you put up much of a fight.”

“Point.”

When they were all inside, Reesha cast a conspiring gaze to Zavin. “Remember when you hired a Guild bounty hunter to bring me in from the field?”

Zavin crossed his arms. “Sure do. Is this the guy?”

“This is the guy.”

Din tilted his head. “I was part of your retrieval chain?”

“Yes. Getting brought in by a Guild hunter was the safest way.”

His shoulders relaxed. “What was with the…” he mimicked the hand gesture she had made when he’d frozen her in carbonite, with her middle fingers extended.

“Oh that,” she laughed. “You didn’t leave a mark on me and I had to make it look better than that, so…” she shrugged. “We tried to hire you to bring me in again later but you were nowhere to be found.”

He breathed a sharp exhale. “Your little display guilt-tripped me into leaving that Guild contact. I bounced the system and never went back.”

Reesha rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe the bullshit I had to put up with after you left. Anyway, we’ll let you get settled. Will your usual room still work for you, Rayne?”

“Yep, it will.”

They brought a few bags out from the Crest and Rayne led Din up to a suite on the second floor; two rooms, a proper bathroom, and a sweeping view of the skyline from floor-to-ceiling windows. The interior walls were decorated with framed design blueprints for starship engine parts, signed by the designer. Din took a close look at one of them, finding the style familiar, recognizing it from Rayne’s work with the fob scramblers. He read the name signed in the corner. “Ryan Robbins. Let me guess. You have a third chain code.”

She smiled as she placed Yadier in his crate and unpacked. “That one is number four, actually.”

“Do I want to know what number three does?”

“Number three got pinched by the Imps, got away, and is officially at the bottom of the ocean on Naboo.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It wasn’t, but it makes for a good story after a night of heavy drinking.”

Once they unpacked, Rayne took a moment to crawl onto the bed. “Oh god… a real bed. It’s been forever since I’ve slept in a real bed.”

“It’s been a month.”

“Foreverrrrr…” She sprawled out on half of it, buried her face in a pillow, and let out a long moan. Yadier pulled himself out of his crate and onto the bed, then romped around the perimeter of it, unfamiliar with the give of an actual mattress. He giggled as he bounced on the firm foam, testing the surface.

Din took a seat on the edge, considered for a moment, then pulled off his boots and stretched out on his back. “Oh.” It really was a nice bed. “Okay. Yeah, I get it.”

“We’ll have to make good use of this later.”

Her suggestive tone did not elude him. “Yes. We will.”

They allowed themselves a few minutes to relax, then headed back downstairs.

* * *

Zavin pulled Din and Yadier out onto the balcony so the women could get to work. Reesha already had a terminal set up in the office.

“So what’s the plan?” Rayne asked.

“I was able to get a location on several Jedi historical texts and registers for the last thirty years of recruiting before the fall of the Republic. Between those, we might be able to find something useful. The good news is that it’s all been digitized and you’ll be able to copy things over quickly.”

“The bad news?”

“It’s all located in the Imperial Palace.”

Rayne blew out an exhale and closed her eyes. The Imperial Palace. The former Jedi Temple.

“Seriously?”

“I know,” Reesha put a hand on her arm. “You’re a Sentinel, Rayne. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“The last time I was in that building…”

“You were a ten year old Youngling. Now you’re going back as an ass-kicking infiltrator.”

Rayne threaded her fingers through her hair. “Urrrrgh…”

“I know that groan. That’s the, _I don’t want to do this even though I know I can_ groan. Seriously, it’s been five years. You’ve been hiding out for too long. When this is all done, the New Republic could use someone like you.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?”

“Someone who can hack a security system, fly and maintain a ship, and break someone’s neck all in the span of five minutes.”

“Maybe. But this kid… he’s powerful. This is a lot bigger than me. Seeing this all the way through might be a longer game. But anything that brings balance to the Force is in the best interest of the New Republic. In that sense, you still have my loyalty.”

Reesha relented. “Fair enough. Let’s run down the security protocols you’ll have to deal with…”

* * *

“Can I get you a beverage?” Zavin offered. “I managed to find a whiskey that goes down well with a straw.”

“No thank you.”

“Seriously, do you have any idea how hard a whiskey-straw pairing is? I spent days on this.”

Din allowed himself an exhale for a laugh. “I appreciate the effort. Maybe later.” Din craned his head to look at the opulent home behind him. “No kids of your own?” It seemed odd to him, given that they so obviously had the resources to have as many children as they wanted.

Zavin gave a slight shake of his head. “I was standing next to a hyperdrive reactor when our carrier got hit with Imperial cruiser fire and things got a little crazy about twenty years ago. I wasn’t quite shooting blanks after that, but the results would’ve been… bad. So…” He made a snipping motion with his fingers.

Din was shocked at Zavin’s frankness, but he realized it lined up with what Rayne had told him. “I’m sorry.”

Zavin shrugged. “We’re not parent types, anyway. Reesha’s work…” He turned his head to gaze out at the skyline. “It wouldn’t be fair.” It wouldn’t be fair to have kids when there was a decent chance they would lose their mother.

Din dipped his head in a single nod.

Life in the Core, while more comfortable, wasn’t all fun and games either, apparently.

He used the moment to take Zavin’s measure. He was about Din’s height and build. He looked like the type of man who’d been a soldier in his younger years and kept up with the exercise habit. He was fair-skinned, green eyes, with long, straight sandy hair pulled back into a ponytail. Zavin leaned back on the rail. “If I’d known it took a Mandalorian bounty hunter to pull Rayne off that dustball planet, I’d have looked a lot harder to hire you again. She doesn’t get around here much.”

Din looked down to his son. “I think Yadier did most of the convincing.”

Zavin took a swallow from his drink. “How’s she been?”

Din tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Last time she was here was two years after Hayes died. She was still kind of a mess. Better than the first year, but…” He shrugged. “Nightmares. Forgetting to eat for a few days in a row. Drinking too much.”

Din nodded. “She’s healthy. Nightmares are an occasional thing.”

“So you’re sleeping with her.”

Thank god Rayne had warned him. “Yes.”

“How are you handling the…” He scratched the back of his neck.

God, this guy. “It’s fine.” _It’s excellent, actually, but I’ll be damned if I discuss it with you._

“What is she to you?”

No wonder they broke up. They must have riddled each other with holes asking pointed questions. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Yes.” Zavin rested his elbows on the rail. Din had never been so closely questioned before by someone who was so clearly at ease. Zavin was not only on his home turf, but he also figured that he was under Rayne’s protection, so long as he didn’t do anything too outrageously stupid. Zavin’s eyes met the visor in a cool, collected challenge. “Rayne’s my friend. Her husband was my friend. He saved my life the day he died. And when he got blown out of that hangar, he took a piece of Rayne with him. I’ve seen her once in the five years since. And now she finally shows up with a Mandalorian who’s wanted by an Imperial remnant for kidnapping a baby, having apparently adopted said baby. So yeah, I’m curious about your relationship with her.”

Yadier burbled in a manner that seemed to say, _He’s got a point_.

Din gave a conciliatory sigh. “She’s the mother of my son.”

“That’s her relationship to your son. What’s your relationship to _her_?”

“Our son is our primary concern. Anything else between us is…” He didn’t know, actually. “Bonus.”

That sounded horrible, but the words were already out.

“Does she know that?”

“We haven’t discussed it. Yet.”

Zavin raised an eyebrow.

“I haven’t made any promises I can’t keep.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Sure.”

Zavin took another swallow of his drink, collecting his thoughts. “Don’t string her along. If you plan on parting ways once you get Yadier settled, tell her now.”

“I haven’t… thought that far ahead, yet.”

“Okay. But don’t take more than a couple of years to figure it out.”

“That what happened with you?”

Zavin’s eyes met the visor for several moments before he gave a slight nod and cast his gaze back out over the view. “More or less. We hit it off well enough. Things were as good as could be expected in the middle of a war. Two years later she slips up with the ‘L’ word, and I… didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Zavin allowed himself a grim smile, taking what he dished out. “Not sure, really. Chemistry just wasn’t there for me.”

Din was by no means an expert on this type of thing, but he knew code for “something about her wasn’t good enough” when he heard it. He decided not to press the issue; people were allowed their preferences, and he knew he may well end up on the receiving end of similar judgment himself. So he limited his response to a single nod.

“I guess I could go for that drink after all.”

* * *

Reesha turned as Din and Yadier followed Zavin into the office while Rayne’s attention was focused on a holoprojection of digitized code as it scrolled before her. Din watched her slide pieces of it out with the touch of a finger, grab other pieces from the side, and slide them in to replace what had been removed. He knew security protocols when he saw them, and he tilted his head toward Reesha in a silent question.

She joined them at the two small couches facing a low, round table in the back of the room, taking the glass that Zavin offered. “Some prep before Rayne retrieves the data tomorrow. So she can deactivate certain cameras at certain times.”

“Is she going in alone?” His tone was more curious than alarmed.

“Not entirely. I’ll be plugged into the system here to guide her along.”

“Where is she headed?”

“The Jedi Temple.”

Zavin let out a long sigh. Din couldn’t blame him. Being with others who knew Rayne so thoroughly was intimidating and comforting, by turns. So much could be said with so few words, and everyone knew what it all meant.

Reesha’s eyes drilled through both of them, one after the other. “She’ll be fine.”

Rayne dropped into the couch next to Din, leaned forward to take the drink offered by Zavin, knocked half of it back, and sighed. “All set.”

“Do you want backup for this?” Din asked.

She let her hand fall to his thigh. “We have bigger plans for you tomorrow, buddy. If you’re interested.”

“I’m listening.”

“Tomorrow,” Zavin started, “I go to the New Republic Military Engineering Division as the face of Ryan Robbins and make a deal for the patents that Rayne put together over the last three years. I walk in with a stick of data, and I walk out with a stick of financial transfer codes for 2.5 million New Republic credits.”

Din’s vision blurred a little at hearing the number, but he pulled it together. “You need an escort to make the deposit.”

“I do. You have a bigger gun? Something everyone can see?”

“I do.”

“Bring it. I don’t know that you’ll need it, but…”

“It’ll be a good show.” He bounced Yadier on his knee. “Where does this guy go while all this happens?”

“He’ll be safe here with me,” Reesha said.

Yadier gave a contented giggle, as if to say that was ok with him.

A tone on Reesha’s wristband beeped. “Excellent! Dinner’s ready.” She watched as Din’s shoulders dropped just the slightest bit, a motion that most people outside of her line of work would miss, preparing to banish himself to the ship or ask for a different room. “Stay put, Mando,” she said as a droid rolled in with a tray filled with five smoothies and set it down on the table. “We’re all drinking our dinner with straws tonight.”

Both Din and Rayne deflated with gratitude at the gesture. The possibility had, of course, been open to him all along, but something about using straws in front of other people had always struck him as undignified. Childlike. But here, with friends, and despite the fact that they were so new to him, their raw honesty with him and their long history with Rayne made them his friends too, and the fact that they were all sharing it with him… made it ok.

His first meal shared with other living things in more than thirty years. He felt Rayne’s arm drop over his shoulders as he lifted the glass from the tray with shaking hands, threaded the metal straw through the channel in his helmet, infinitely thankful for the protection it gave his expression when he couldn’t keep from closing his eyes as the taste of meiloorun flowed over his tongue and down his throat.

His mind drifted to two weeks prior, sitting by the fire under the stars, when Rayne had confessed to him her raw passion for chocolate. He had reciprocated, telling her his memory of his father bringing him to the market and letting him pick out the two best meiloorun fruits he could find, one for him, one for his mother, for it had been their mutual favorite. Once home, she would show him how to peel and de-seed them, and they would sit in the sun together to share.

It all washed over him again. He let it come, knowing it would only take longer if he fought it, and soon enough, it passed. He turned his head to Rayne, seeing that her smoothie was, indeed, chocolate.

Oh, this woman. This woman and her conspiring, incredible friends.

She could feel his trembling through the beskar, could feel the wave of nostalgia roll off of him. “Everything ok in there?”

He paused, embarrassed at almost losing it over a fruit smoothie. These simple pleasures she brought him that threatened to undo him.

“We gotta get a blender.”

* * *

Rayne came up to their rooms later on, pausing outside of the main door as she heard her son squeaking and giggling from the other side.

“Yaaaadierrrrrr…” Din’s voice was a low, playful growl, rolling the R at the end of the name as Yadier let out an unbridled laugh.

She opened the door to find Din sitting on the edge of the bed, tickling their son, fresh from his bath. Din had already shed the beskar, gloves, and boots, his shirtsleeves pulled up to his elbows, fingers light over Yadi’s bright green, apparently ticklish belly, tiny arms and legs flailing in joyful protest. “Yaaaadierrrrr,” he growled again, thick with his Mando’a accent, renewing the tickles, and the baby let out another peal of laugher.

Who knew this was what happened when you poured three shots of whiskey into a Mandalorian?

“You wanna cover story and bedtime while I take a shower?”

“Sure,” Din said, voice breaking after all of the play growls.

“Shhhhhoooo _buir_!” the baby followed.

By the time she came back out, the lights were dimmed but not off, Yadier was already snoring in the other room, and Din was on his back, down to his helmet, shorts, and the beskar casing on its leather string around his neck. His hands were folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. She paused for a moment to watch him breathe, his skin dark against the sheets, and she had the sudden realization that she was quite possibly looking at the only Mandalorian in the galaxy with a fresh suntan.

A deliciously even one, at that.

She slid into bed next to him. “Still awake in there?”

“Mmhm.” He reached for her hand, found it, and pulled it to his chest. “Your friends seem like good people.”

“They are. You passed inspection.”

“Yaaayyy,” he deadpanned, voice low, trying to sound like he didn’t care even if maybe he did. “Zavin’s worried about you.”

“Mm. I probably gave him reason to be. He’ll get over it.” She pressed her lips to his shoulder and he sighed into it. “Still up for making good use of the accommodations?”

“I can be convinced.”

He traced her ribs as she moved above him, eyes locked on the bullet casing he had given her as it hung at the base of her throat, Zavin’s words from earlier in the day coming back to him. “ _What is she to you_?”

Any attempt at an answer was lost as she tipped over the edge and her mind dragged him along with her.

* * *

Breakfast was straw-friendly yogurt. Din wondered how many meals they would be able to accommodate in this way. His second favorite was rare-cooked steak, and he couldn’t think of a pleasant way of getting that through a straw.

He came back from the Razor Crest, Zavin smiling at the Amban slung across his back as he handed Rayne her lightsaber. Zavin and Reesha sat at the table that was off to the side of the mostly open main level. Zavin’s hair was braided and wrapped into a bun at the nape of his neck, his hand turned palm-up as Reesha ran a pen-like instrument in slow passes over his fingertips.

Again, Din tilted his head in a silent question.

“Altering his fingerprints,” Rayne answered. “He’ll have my prints for the next three days.”

“What about retina scans?”

“Took care of that last night,” Reesha offered.

“Blood type?”

“Easy. We’re both O+ to begin with,” Rayne said.

“Huh.” Despite the fact that the identity was a fake one, the very real act of Rayne loaning it to her ex, and his wife facilitating that act, struck him in a profound way. The level of trust the three of them had for each other, the level of trust Reesha and Zavin showed him just by allowing him in their home, their incredible hospitality towards him, was like nothing he had ever seen.

And then he realized. This is what it meant to have long-term friends.

Not business partners. Not people who would cooperate with you only when it behooved them to do so. But people who you could actually trust. Who had your back. Who did it because they liked you and cared about you.

Would he and Cara ever have something similar? Would they both survive long enough for that? And if they did, could they tolerate each other for the duration?

He dared to hope so.

“So what exactly are you two breaking into today?”

“The New Republic recently came into possession of archives that were thought to have been destroyed by the Empire in their various pogroms,” Reesha answered. “Some of the Jedi records and texts were among them. Access is still highly restricted – even _I’m_ not supposed to know about this, so we have to be sneaky.”

“You’re stealing information from your own side.” It wasn’t a question.

Reesha shrugged. “More or less. The restrictions are in place to protect any remaining Force-sensitives. It’s… unwise for me to put anyone in the position of doing me the favor of granting me access at the moment. But Rayne can pull it off so that no one will have any idea she was there.”

“And the penalty for getting caught is…”

“Execution.”

“Mechanic, engineer, _and_ espionage agent.” Din’s tone was incredulous.

Reesha looked to Rayne, who had her head down as she pulled her gloves on. “You didn’t tell him.”

Rayne shrugged. “Didn’t come up.”

“Tell me what?”

Reesha rolled her eyes. “The Jedi knights were divided into three general branches. The Guardians were the warriors, channeling the Force through themselves and their own physical abilities for combat. The Consulars were the peacekeepers, using the Force to heal, gain wisdom, and draw prophesy. Grand Master Yoda was a Consular. The Sentinels were somewhere in-between. Rayne would have been one of them.”

Rayne was still fussing with her gloves. “I’m a mediocre fighter and a middle-of-the-road prophet.”

Reesha took a long breath. “The Sentinels were the balance between the Guardians and the Consulars. They were often known for their technical capabilities and their ability to mix them with combat and knowledge of the Force. Strong, smart, and stealthy. The perfect spies.”

Rayne looked up. “You done?”

Reesha crossed her arms and smiled. “Yes.” She turned to see Din looking at Rayne, head tilted, his posture betraying a mix of consideration and admiration. “Did you have any idea who you scooped out of that hangar, Mando?”

He took a measured breath. “A little.” He shifted position. “This archive. You said it had information from other Imperial pogroms. Does it include Mandalorian records?”

Reesha lifted an eyebrow and flicked her eyes to meet Rayne’s. Rayne tipped her head.

“Yes,” Reesha answered.

“Would it be difficult to lift those as well?”

“I can swing it,” Rayne answered, once again returning her attention to her gloves.

* * *

Din waited for Zavin outside of the fresher at the main promenade. They had arrived separately, and the plan was for Zavin to do a bit of a change-up in the fresher so that their motions wouldn’t be traced back to their home. Din had his doubts, but when Zavin emerged with his hair unbound, flowing and curly as a result of his earlier braiding, with a set of thick glasses to top it off, Din had to admit that the cover was a good one. He stepped forward. “Dr. Robbins.”

Zavin tipped his head. “Mando.”

They walked to the Engineering Division, a half mile away. Zavin knew the drill. Keep the chit-chat minimal so Din could concentrate and do his job. Din appreciated that Zavin’s eyes did a regular sweep of their surroundings as well, not leaving everything entirely up to Din. When they arrived, Zavin pressed his thumb to the scanner and the guards let them through, Din’s admission implicit as the protector of what Zavin carried. What Rayne created.

The ride up the elevator was silent but relaxed as Zavin straitened his tie, checking the fit of his suit in the reflection of the walls. Clearly used to dealing with corporate types.

Din followed him to an expansive boardroom with a panoramic view of the Coruscant skyline, the rest of the twenty or so participants already seated. “Dr. Robbins,” one of them said, greeting them at the door. “You’ve returned to us after three years with good tidings.”

“I have,” Zavin said, with a decidedly central-Core accent that Din couldn’t place. “Let us begin immediately. I do not wish to stay any longer than necessary.”

* * *

Rayne crept through the darkened halls, the Imperial Palace only now partially occupied by New Republic agents as the central government began its slow recovery. Her childhood home. Once the Jedi Temple. Desecrated by Imperial occupation. New Republic occupation wouldn’t exactly restore it to its former glory, but it wouldn’t be any worse.

She was shrouded entirely in black. A Youngling returned home to reclaim her history.

And, for better or worse, the history of the father of her son.

The halls were only vaguely familiar. Thirty-four years of history separated her from the memories. But she remembered enough.

“Next junction is in forty meters,” Reesha’s voice whispered through the com in Rayne’s ear.

“I see it.” Rayne closed the distance, but stopped just before getting within range of the security cameras around the corner. She closed her eyes, reached out with her mind, and found all of the cameras along the intersecting hallway. She put a mental finger on each one, resting against the vulnerabilities she had inserted the previous night. All at once, she flicked them all on a continuous loop of the last ten seconds. Opening her eyes, she slid around the corner. “How do I look?”

“Invisible.”

“Copy.” She paused once more to release the cameras in the hallway she had just exited, and continued.

* * *

Din walked behind Zavin as they exited the protection of the Engineering Division.

The next mile to the bank was all on him.

Zavin’s performance before the Board had been impressive, highlighting the novelty of Rayne’s work, the benefit it would bring to the New Republic’s heavy cruisers, and thus, the New Republic itself. The guy knew his stuff.

The guy knew _Rayne’s_ stuff.

Now they walked with orders for a three million credit transfer in Zavin’s pocket. Zavin had bargained high and managed to get it. The street was crowded with traffic, both pedestrian and motorized, which was both good and bad. It provided a fair amount of cover, but made it difficult to see what might be coming. The buildings were towering high-rises; it would take a skilled sniper to be effective from their rooftops. Zavin was good about following close behind the people in front of him, using them as unsuspecting shields from a frontal attack, and not minding Din close at his own back. It helped that they were the same height, that their strides matched.

“We’re being followed,” Din said, voice calm.

“What’s my exit?” Zavin murmured back, just as calm.

“Can you cover fifty meters in ten seconds with this crowd?”

“Sure. I haven’t noticed anyone ahead of us.”

“Me neither. I’ll tell you when.”

“Copy.”

Working with someone who knew what they were doing was… kinda nice, actually.

Their tail fell in twenty meters behind Din. When he closed to within ten, he whispered the signal. “ _Now_.”

Zavin broke into a run.

Din reached for his Amban and swung it around his shoulder as he spun and caught a blaster bolt in the chest, deflecting off the beskar.

Civilians screamed and dispersed, Zavin melting in among them as Din stalked toward the assailant, two more bolts ricocheting off of him. The mark looked like a typical merc, and when he realized his blaster would do him little good against a wall of Mandalorian Iron, he holstered it and drew the saber from the scabbard across his back.

 _How quaint_ , Din thought as he swung the Amban through to parry the attack from the saber. He saw another flash from the side and caught the blaster shot from a second merc in the back. _Okaaayyy_. Now it was interesting. He parried one more saber swing before jamming the Amban’s electrified prongs into the first merc, waiting for the scream to end before disengaging, then thrusting the butt of the rifle backwards into the second merc as he came rushing in. Din spun again, bringing the rifle to bear, but caught a bolt to the face before he got the chance to do much else. It blinded him for a moment, the merc already up by the time Din shook it off. Din tracked the assailant by the scrape of a boot against the pavement, knowing everyone else had vacated the scene, and he jabbed forward with the Amban once more, finding his mark, debilitating him with just enough voltage to put him out for a couple of hours.

Finding the street abandoned, Din straightened and slung the Amban back over his shoulder. He checked the bodies for tracking fobs. Discovering none, he continued on his way.

Fifty meters up, at the next intersection, he found Zavin leaning against a wall, checking his watch. Din inclined his head. _After you_. Zavin returned the head-tip and fell back into place.

Together, they continued.

* * *

Rayne turned the corner and found herself in one of the few places she remembered clearly from her childhood at the Temple.

The Jedi Archives.

Before, even if the place had been quiet, it had always been bustling. A courteous quiet. Several people always coming and going at any one time, always minding their noise to minimize disturbance. An _alive_ kind of quiet.

Now, it may as well have been a tomb.

Its many volumes mostly destroyed.

Its many patrons mostly murdered.

Now, a New Republic officer occupied the central reference desk. She approached, and was ready when he lifted his head from his work. “Hey! Who are you? This isn’t a public area.”

“Go to sleep.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What? I’m not tired. What do you think you’re doing?”

 _Woops_. This guy actually took his job seriously. Actually cared about what he was doing. She paused, reached behind her, and activated her lightsaber as she brought it forward.

“Oh. Oh, _shit_.” Clearly, the officer had every idea who he was dealing with.

“I’ve come home,” Rayne said. “I’ve come to get what’s mine. And you’re going to let me do it. And then you’re going to forget all about this.”

“Um, yeah.” He stood, hands held aloft in surrender. “Yep, that sounds fine. I’m ok with that. I’ve left the terminal on. I’ll um… I’ll just stand in the corner over here.”

“Thank you.” She watched as he did exactly that, back turned. She deactivated the saber, took a seat, and dove in.

* * *

Once more, Din found himself standing guard outside of a fresher at the promenade while Zavin made one last appearance change. When one person came up to use it, he crossed his arms, not moving out of the way. “Is… um… is this the line for the fresher?”

Din tilted his head in as slow and menacing a manner as he could manage. “No.”

The other man stood there for a moment, shocked. “Um. Ok then…” He paused for one more moment, almost as if he expected more elaboration, or at least an explanation. When it was not provided, he wandered off.

A minute or two later, Zavin walked out, wearing his third suit of the day, with his hair buzzed short and wearing a pair of sunglasses.

They exchanged a nod and took their separate ways home.

* * *

Zavin and Reesha once more sat at the table on the main floor, exchanging their tales of the day. Zavin held an ice pack in each hand, fingertips stinging, a delayed reaction from the replacement procedure. He watched the Mandalorian through the window outside, sitting on the bench, cleaning his rifle, waiting for Rayne to return. Yadier sat on the ground at his feet, clutching his rubber frog with one hand, the other arm wrapped as far around his father’s leg as he could get it.

She wasn’t due back for another half an hour at least, but they waited anyway.

The baby started to bounce about five minutes before she was due back.

When time was just about up, Rayne appeared, coming around the Razor Crest. Din stood, slung his rifle, scooped up the baby, and walked out to meet her.

Zavin watched as the Mandalorian stood close to her, dipped his head, slid his free hand to her hip.

He sighed as a little bit of the guilt fell away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a little embarrassed that it took me this many chapters to pass the [Bechdel Test](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bechdel_test), but, here we are. Thank you for popping into my head, Reesha. Rayne needed her old friend back.
> 
> Reesha first appeared in the second chapter of [Turning the Corner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232464/chapters/53085688) – the New Republic bounty with strict order to bring in warm.
> 
> I imagine the Mando'a accent to be a mix of NYC and Spanish, because Pedro. :)


	9. The Revealed Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new tags here.

_No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more  
Well, I wake up in the morning  
Fold my hands and pray for rain  
I got a head full of ideas  
That are drivin' me insane_

Bob Dylan, [Maggie’s Farm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmceSj07_fs) (performed by Rage Against the Machine)

* * *

Rayne rode the monorail on her way home from the temple, gaze lost out the window as it glided over the city on its single track.

The key to her son’s future quite possibly lay in the memory stick in her pocket.

They key to his father’s past might also be there, too.

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. It might as well happen sooner.

Things with Din had reached a comfortable steady-state on Methuselah. They were both almost completely ruled by their son. Both of them orbited Yadier like the tiny little celestial body he was. Only a gravity well as powerful as his could’ve pulled the two of them together. Once they shared the same course, peeling Din’s layers back had revealed a man of tremendous contradictions and complexity, a man used to inflicting and receiving brutality, but demonstrating immense aptitude at kindness. For a guy whose life had done nothing but beat him down, Din was remarkably… gentle. His voice defaulted to a smooth tenor. He handled Yadier with a light touch. Weapons and armor were polished with care. Even in their moments together, alone, he was achingly slow, achingly tender in his movements.

He was broken in a lot of ways, some of which had begun to heal on Methuselah, but something at his core had remained intact enough to allow that gentleness to exist. To drift out from under the armor.

She wondered about what they would find in all of the data she had downloaded.

She wondered if it would break him apart all over again.

She wondered if any of his gentleness would survive.

* * *

Reesha copied the data, and they all began to sift through the records to see what was available and maybe determine a coordinated search strategy. Inevitably, they each got sucked into the rabbit holes of their own interests. Zavin dove into lightsaber designs. Reesha read up on cloning techniques. Din sifted through Death Watch history. Rayne started aimlessly, then looked up her own record with her old name.

“Huh. I’m still listed as MIA.” She scrolled down a bit so her name was obscured, then dragged it to the main projector so all could see. Indeed, the record had the last photograph taken of her while a youngling at the temple, all of ten years old. Curly hair pulled into pigtail braids, last known location still listed as Coruscant. There wasn’t much else to it, ending with her birth planet: Onderon.

Din tilted his head. “Did you know that’s where you’re from?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ever go back? Try to find your parents?”

“No.”

Din’s posture stiffened, shocked. He would have left no stone unturned if there had ever been any hope that his parents had survived the attack on his world.

Sensing his confusion, she elaborated. “I wasn’t an easy baby. The Jedi picked me up so quickly because my parents couldn’t handle me. They didn’t want me.”

“How can you know that?”

“A lot of the kids who came in later, when they were older… they didn’t have good experiences with their parents. They said they were happier at the temple. They didn’t get homesick.”

“Their parents weren’t trained properly.”

“No. And neither were mine. I was also a liability after Order 66, so…” She shrugged. The implication was clear. Rayne and Din were in the same position. Rayne did what she could, but given the enormity of Yadier’s strength, it wouldn’t be enough. They owed it to him to get him to his people.

Din sighed, returning to his own reading, which was disturbing him more and more.

A month ago, on the way to Methuselah, Rayne had given him the briefest of history lessons on the shared legacy of the Jedi and Mandalore, culminating with the Dark Saber. It irked him that he knew nothing about it. It irked him that Gideon had it. It irked him that Gideon knew anything at all about him.

He was caught unprepared when it came to history, and he meant to fix that.

By now, he was starting to regret it.

His first reaction was to disbelieve it, given that the data were downloaded from the Jedi Temple, of all places. But as he got further in, he found copies of the original documents, original orders. Things that should have seemed weird when he was a kid, things he’d never given much thought to, suddenly made sense. Things like the fact that he had never actually set foot on Mandalore. He had never wondered why, instead, Death Watch was headquartered on Concordia, one of Mandalore’s moons, where they raised him. It was just How It Was. It was the Way.

Because Death Watch was born from the remains of warriors who were _exiled_ there. For their role in a history of wars that left most of Mandalore itself a desert wasteland. He read of terrorist attacks on Mandalore, authorized by Pre Vizsla. He read of their leadership by a Sith Lord. He read of their alliance with…

… Their alliance with Separatist forces during the Clone Wars.

Din’s stomach turned.

He read more documents, outlining tactics of gaining political support, various ways that Death Watch could position themselves to swoop in as liberators in response to manufactured events. Everything from an attempt to force the Republic’s hand into occupying Mandalore to… to…

… To staging Separatist droid attacks on Outer Rim planets.

The worst thing was that, so far as he knew, the various coverts that spawned from Death Watch were the only ones to survive as recognizable Mandalorians. So far as he knew, all of the Mandalorians who had survived adhered to the strict interpretations of the Creed. As extremist as it was, it had _worked_. Secrecy really _had_ been their survival.

He had to stop.

Taking a page from Rayne’s book, he instead poked around to see if he could find anything on himself, knowing he was likely in there somewhere if Gideon had known so much about him. After a few minutes, he found it.

“Huh. The last photograph taken of me before I swore the Creed.”

“Seriously? Is it ok if I see?”

“Sure, I guess.” If the Mandalorians had seen fit to document his appearance before donning the helmet, it was probably fine. He sent it to the central projector for all of them.

Rayne sat back, shocked.

He was so _young_.

Just a little boy, not much older than ten or eleven. Her eyes skipped around the document, and saw the date. Twelve. He was twelve in that picture. Twelve years old when he was forced to make the decision to give over his soul and hide his face for the rest of his life.

Once she got over the shock, she took in the features. His hair was dark, straighter than the loosely-curled lock that lay encased in the beskar at her throat. The line of his jaw was sharp for his age, indicating a scrawniness to his body despite the otherwise round face. His eyes were dark brown, round and huge.

He looked scared.

Din scrolled through more of the record, back to when he was adopted into the covert. Only his status read as “Captured.”

Uh oh…

“Captured? What…” He cross-referenced and found… not rescue orders, but _invasion_ orders.

Signed by Clan Vizsla.

Din scrolled through the dates and locations of the attacks, forgetting that everyone else at the table was seeing the same thing. Hoping not to see it. Begging fate not to see it.

There it was. The name of his homeworld. The name of his village. The date.

The day his life as a normal human being ended.

He had been prone to flashbacks since that day, forced by his mind to relive those moments over and over again. Droids blasting every place he had been. Droids slaughtering every person he knew. Droids sending the deafening impact that destroyed his parents.

It was happening again.

It had been Death Watch all along.

The people who had saved him. Who had raised him as one of their own. Who he had sworn an oath to. Who he had sacrificed for. Who he had devoted his life to.

His whole life was a lie.

The people who had destroyed his home, murdered his parents, stolen him, had in turn recycled him into one of them. Trained him for war. Trained him to kill. He was nothing but a murderer. Giving everything he had to foundlings who would become murderers themselves.

He had been on the wrong side of everything the whole time.

The Creed. His life. The Way. Was dust.

A small click sounded from behind the mask. He forced his body up and out of his seat, into a slow turn, not trusting himself to move any faster, forcing his legs to carry him out of the room. His only fluid motion was the way he hooked his finger around the neck of the bottle of whisky that had been left out on the counter as he passed by it, swinging it off the surface and taking it with him.

He needed something to head off the flashbacks. Already, he could feel his mind begin to flay open, could smell the tell-tale ozone of blaster fire as he started to drift back to that moment. He fought to hold it back, but he would not be able to for long. It was either booze or a bullet through his head.

Rayne followed him. “Hey – whoa…” She backed off as he drew his sidearm, then caught back up, relieved as he switched his hold to the barrel and handed her the grip. He bent mid-stride, pulled the knife from his boot, and handed that to her as well.

His weapons were his religion, and he had just surrendered them.

“I’m locking myself on the Crest and you’re going to leave me alone.” His voice was broken glass over granite. He pulled his vambraces off and gave them to her, only keeping the mechanism to unlock the outer ramp. He would be unable to access the weapons locker. His Amban was still hanging in its place by the flight deck door, but he figured it was too long for him to manage to blow his own brains out with it unless he used his toes on the trigger. He was not about to die with his boots off, so that would probably be alright.

“Ok. Just keep the helmet off so I can keep tabs on you.”

He hefted the whiskey bottle. “I sure as shit am not drinking this through a straw.”

“That… works out.”

He was silent as she watched him leave.

He boarded the Razor Crest, closed the ramp, pulled the helmet off, and let it clatter to the floor. He considered the bottle in his hand for a brief moment.

Given all he was capable of, all the betrayal in his heart, all the ghosts in his head, sometimes self-medication really was the safest alternative.

He placed the whiskey on the table, procured a glass from the galley, returned, and had a seat. Poured several ounces into the glass and knocked it back, embracing the burn as it blazed down his throat and up into his sinuses.

It was all a lie.

He’d always given everything he had to the coverts. _Everything_ he had. And Vizla had the nerve to try and shame him for it.

Paz _fucking_ Vizla. A token change of spelling from the Vizsla name, ostensibly to indicate a break from the Vizslas who had aligned with the Empire for a time, but the damage had already been done by then.

For a creed that chanted “heart before blood” as often as it did, House Vizsla always seemed to be at the top of the pile. They had been the heart and soul of Death Watch for decades. Paz, at the very least, had seen himself near the top of the Tribe hierarchy at the Nevarro covert. Foundlings usually wound up being raised in the Fighting Corps, with fewer than half getting adopted into the clans. The detritus of war and trauma, foundlings often had difficulty integrating back into a family as children, and had trouble starting clans of their own as adults. Din was far from unique in this situation. Foundlings were brought in, attempts at full integration were made, and the ones who couldn’t were praised for their contributions in combat and resources.

The Way, as told by the clans in power.

The Truth was that foundlings’ homes were destroyed. They were kidnapped. They were used for gun fodder, slavery, and breeding stock. Used to bolster the numbers of a dying faction.

A faction that deserved to die.

Din had been a cog in that machine for thirty-five years. He’d given everything. Money. Beskar. His own DNA. A handful of the Mandalorian women he’d been with had wanted children, had asked unprotected intimacy of him, and he had given it without hesitation. Like him, they had all been foundlings. Not part of a clan, not looking to start one, partial to the same nomadic life. The mystery of the outcomes had never bothered him, believing they would be well-cared for by the Corps or an adoptive family if anything had come to fruition.

Now, suddenly, it pulled on him.

“Heart before blood.” Investigating one’s own lineage outside of clan membership was taboo. It wasn’t supposed to matter. What kind of creeper didn’t have faith in the Corps or an adoptive clan to raise a kid? If you didn’t have it in you to be part of a clan, you had no business asking. Now, he realized that was by design. _Shut up and breed_ , was what it really meant. _Give us your flesh and blood and don’t ask questions._

Had there ever been any? Were any of them still alive? How much of his blood had been spilled for such dishonor? He would never know.

 _Vizsla._ The name ran talons down the back of Din’s neck. The Vizslas had ordered the attack on his village. The Vizslas had stolen his parents and his life. If Paz wasn’t already among the dead on Nevarro, Din would hunt him down and add his helmet to the pile in the sewers of the covert. The only question was whether he would make Paz’s head part company with his shoulders before or after removing it.

After. Definitely after.

He wanted Paz to see it coming. He wanted to see Paz in disgrace. He wanted to reach out and extract Paz’s soul with his own hands. He wanted to look Paz in the eye when he slit his throat. Oh, he knew how hard his hands would shake when he did it and how much of a mess that would make. And that would make it even better.

He tasted blood in his mouth and realized he’d bitten his own lip.

His mind traded one flashback for another.

The sudden compulsion to draw his own blood gripped him like it hadn’t since he was fifteen. Since the day Alaria had found him on the floor of his room, hours after failing his first set of trials, six neat lines carved across his thigh, one for each of the _Resol’nare,_ just above his kneecap. Having her find him like that was the last thing he’d wanted, but he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, finally relieved of the shame of his failure in his head when he’d inflicted physical pain upon himself, giving his mind something else to focus on, something he was used to dealing with. Deaf to her knocking at his door. Concerned, she’d over-ridden the lock.

He reached for the knife in his boot and came up empty, belatedly remembering that he’d given it to Rayne for this exact reason.

Along with the ability to open the weapons locker.

He still had the kitchen knives in the galley.

He stood up and stumbled a little, the whiskey having gotten a good start on him already. He walked to the drawer by the bunk, stripped the armor off, and put it away.

He would feel no protection in armor tonight.

He had wanted so much to be like the Mandalorian who had rescued him, the armored figure silhouetted in light dimmed by smoke, beckoning him out of the bunker, scooping him up and flying him out of the battle zone. He had seemed so powerful. So invincible. And at the same time, so kind. He was everything Din had needed in that moment, and Din had wanted to be that kind of Mandalorian to someone else, someday. And when he’d finally gotten that chance, when he’d finally come upon a child in need of rescue, the child had, instead, saved _his_ life. In return, he had sold that child to people who well and truly meant to harm him.

Now he knew that Mandalorian was not his rescuer, but his kidnapper. Had stolen him and trafficked him, sent him along for his brainwashing so he could participate in his own slavery with more than just enthusiasm, but with religious fervor.

Was it any wonder that Din had followed suit and sold his foundling?

He retrieved a paring knife from the galley, small but sharp, and placed it on the table.

When she had found him, Alaria had called her mother despite his protests, and she arrived shortly after with a medkit. She had said nothing, but closed the door behind her and set to work, cleaning, treating, and dressing his wound. When she was done, she had looked to her daughter. “Stay with him,” she’d said. “Call me if you need anything.” Alaria had nodded, then reached for her mother to pull her in for a hug. Her mother held her like that, on the floor in his room, for several moments, while he watched in silence. Her mother had then turned to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, bare of the pauldron that should have been there. “Is this about your trials today?” When he had been unable to voice an answer, she tried again. “Do you wish for me to speak with your sponsor?”

“No.”

She had nodded. “Only half succeed in their trials the first time through. Your instructors are confident that you will learn from your mistakes and succeed when you attempt them again next month. You are capable when you put your mind to it, Din. Do not let this deter you.”

A whispered “Thank you” was all he could manage as she stood to leave.

Now, Din turned from the table and plucked his medkit off of a shelf, then had a seat, taking his right boot off and pulling the pantleg up over his knee. He poured out another several ounces of whiskey and downed it. He wondered how much Alaria’s mother had known about the attack on his village. Chances were good she’d known all about it. Chances were good that she’d _participated_ in it. Chances were good that _the mother of his first intimate partner had participated in the op that destroyed his village, murdered his parents, and kidnapped him_. The thought raged against the inside of his skull.

With a steady hand, he held the knife over the shot glass and poured a measure of whiskey down one side of the blade, then the other. All he wanted to do was slice himself open, not give himself gangrene. He then bent over and drew the knife in a straight, shallow line high across the side of his calf, where the Amban shells would lay on his boot, feeling something loosen in his chest as he did so.

Had Alaria’s mother ever told her? Had she ever confessed to her daughter that the reason her partner was a wreck was _because she’d fucking murdered his parents?_ He drew a second line with the knife below the first, and finally noticed the tears when one rolled off his face and fell into the fresh cuts, stinging. Was that why Alaria had chosen him in the first place? Because she felt guilty? He drew a third line below the second, and finally felt the sharpness of it, finally felt his flesh come apart at the edge of the knife.

A small part of him, deep down, a part he had never admitted to himself until now, knew he had clung so desperately to the Creed because he wanted so much to believe in the _manda_ , believe it was real, believe that when this train wreck he called a life finally killed him, he would join the oversoul and meet Alaria there if she’d beaten him to it, or he would wait for her arrival if he got there first. That if he just did what he was told, he would be reunited with the only part of his youth that had ever made any sense, who had ever shown him any kind of warmth, who had ever shown him any kind of love. He’d been too damaged at the time to entirely reciprocate her feelings for him, knowing they would be separated. He’d _wanted_ to, had hoped that she knew he’d wanted to. But in the _manda_ , he would be made whole again, and he could finally give her what she deserved.

He drew a fourth line through his skin.

Two more to go.

Now, he knew it was all bullshit. Rules to keep foundlings like him in line. Keep them isolated. The clans went through the motions of accepting the foundlings, picking and choosing the most resilient ones to adopt, went through the motions of providing counseling to the rest, just enough to keep them from murdering their peers or taking their own lives, not entirely successfully. Went through the motions of making the Fighting Corps sound like an honorable life. A warrior’s life. War was the Way of the galaxy; all the better to be prepared for it. All the better to devastate the families of others and create more foundlings to bring into the fold.

He dragged the knife through line number five.

If this was the Creed he’d sworn his soul to, he knew he was already _dar’manda_. His soul was already lost. No honor was to be found here. He had been raised by terrorists. He had _become_ a terrorist. How many lives had died by his hand? He honestly had no idea. Hundreds, easily. Could he have killed a thousand? Fucked if he knew. How could anyone have a soul after that? How could anyone with a soul have done that to begin with? How could he justify that to any kind of afterlife gatekeeper?

 _Dar’manda_. He was _dar’manda_ to the bone, and no amount of redemption would ever be enough to bring it back. His death would bring the full and complete annihilation that he so richly deserved.

But he would send Vizla to his death, first. And anyone else who had been born to House Vizsla or Death Watch and benefited from the slavery they had wrought upon the foundlings.

He would avenge the foundlings.

He would avenge his parents.

He was already _dar’manda_. Already the murderer of so many.

What did a few more matter?

Line number six, the sting of it needling him all the way to his spine, and the full flood of endorphins finally hit him.

_Nobody cares who your father was. Only the father you’ll be._

The old saying swam up through the whiskey and blood-induced opiates and into his mind, and it gave him pause as he sat there watching his leg bleed.

What did this mean for his armor? For the helmet? Was it necessary to continue with this charade of a Creed if his soul was already long gone? Did any of it matter anymore?

He still had his child to protect. The beskar belonged to Yadier. Din would wear it in service to his son for as long as his son needed it.

As for the helmet… the thought of showing his face turned his stomach, liquor aside. He deserved the cage he’d locked his face in. He deserved the shame he felt, the need to hide.

His son deserved a better father. Rayne deserved a better… whatever he was to her. He would deliver Yadier to his people and free him of his faceless caretaker. He would release Rayne back to her normal life. He would lay waste to whatever remained of Death Watch. And if he survived that, he would go back to reigning terror over the scum and villainy that stocked the bounty pucks of the Guild. And he would arrange for the beskar so that when he was finally dead, it would be sent to Yadier to forge as his own or chuck into the sea as he pleased.

* * *

Rayne returned, juggling Din’s cast-off weapons and vambraces, frowning as Yadier squirmed in Reesha’s hold, eyes already brimming with tears.

“He knows something’s up,” Reesha murmured, bouncing the baby as well as she could while Rayne handed the weapons over to Zavin for safe-keeping.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to shield him until Mando either passes out or falls asleep.” She gathered Yadier in her arms. “Can I steal the living room to meditate?”

“Of course,” Reesha led her over and helped Rayne get settled on the floor in the corner with a few cushions so she could sit cross-legged with the baby in her lap. “We’ll keep watch.”

Rayne met her gaze with gratitude. “Thank you.”

* * *

Yadier was scared.

No.

Yadier was _terrified_.

He had felt moments of anger radiate from his father before. Anger, sadness, hopelessness. None of these were strangers to him. The doses had usually been small, his father able to keep them in check at a tolerable level, even when he was unaware of his son’s ability to sense his every emotion.

But now…

Now his father _raged_.

Never before had his father been such a hurricane. Never before had the darkness gathered with such ominous intent. Never before had the air been so thick with static, so ready to ignite, so ready to unleash forces that would sweep in to consume and destroy everything in their path.

He saw the wave in his father rise, gather itself up and ready itself to break.

“Yadier.” His mother’s voice. In his ears and in his mind.

Steady. Calm. Warm. Embracing.

“Remember the lake, Yadier.” Her voice was a whisper. Soft and smooth. And he remembered the lake. The tidal forces of his father mutated to the small, breeze-driven ripples of the lake lapping at the beach. The sun was warm on his skin. The water was cool on his feet. The tadpoles darted away and he chased after them, splashing.

Rayne sat in the living room, wedged into the corner for the long haul, her mind divided into an inner and outer sphere. The inner sphere enveloped her son, transporting him back to just a few days ago, keeping his mind occupied with the joys of those moments, distracting him. The outer sphere absorbed the assault of his father as his wave crested and broke, storm-driven existential terror and rage and betrayal and annihilation.

Rayne existed somewhere in the layer between the two spheres, protecting her son from his father, monitoring his father, listening for when she might have to break off and protect him from himself.

She felt the sting of the blade through Din’s skin, a straight line just below his knee, felt it as if he was drawing the edge through her own, and she came to understand his old scars. He had done this before. So overwhelmed with the anguish in his head that he needed something else, some physical attack to draw his attention away from it. She was no stranger to the practice, the dark year after her husband’s death clouded with similar self-destruction, kept secret by her rare use of healing herself. She stayed put, recalling their first night close together, his reaction against her reflex to soothe the hurt of his mind. She would let him get as far as six lines, six to match the old set. If he started a seventh, or… something worse… she would have to break off protecting Yadier and put an end to it. Otherwise, she would allow him his grief. Allow his storm to rage until it blew itself out. And tomorrow she would return to him, gather up the pieces of whatever was left, and try to put him back together again.

* * *

Two hours later, Rayne opened her eyes to find Zavin in the couch on the other side of the room, reading, feet propped up on the cushions, long legs crossed at the ankles. He looked over at her when he realized she was present. “How’s it going out there?”

She sighed. “He finally passed out.”

* * *

Noon came and went before Rayne dared to go out to the Razor Crest.

She knew Din was more-or-less awake. Could feel the thick fog of his hangover. Could feel the exhaustion of a mind that had worked itself over, the ache of betrayal. The emptiness of loss. Over all of it hung the general sense of being spent. He had nothing left. He was done. He had surrendered.

Surrendered to what, she wasn’t sure.

The ship was still buttoned up, so she tapped her wristband to lower the portside ramp. By the time it was down, the murkiness of Din’s mind had subsided, likely a result of him putting the helmet back on. Regardless, she still paused before reaching the hatch. “You decent?”

“Yes.” His voice was thin, but came from the modulator, so she proceeded. The door to the bunk was open, an empty water bottle resting on the floor in front of it. She headed over and picked it up, turning to see him still in there on his side, helmet, shirt, and shorts in order, sheet and blanket tangled around his legs and arms. A bandage was wrapped around his right leg, just below his knee.

She went up to the galley, refilled the bottle, and came back down. He held his hand out for it when she reappeared in the opening, so she leaned in to hand it off, then headed back to the table at the end of the hold. She felt his misery as her own as he took the bucket off and drank the water. When the pain was muffled by the helmet once more, he slid the empty bottle back out into the hold with his foot.

It hit the floor, rolled half-way across the deck, then rolled back to rest once again at the bulkhead by the bunk.

She made a mental note to check the auto-levelers on the landing gear.

The whiskey bottle was still on the table. She gave it a few turns, trying to remember what level it was at when he’d brought it out last night. He couldn’t have put down more than eight shots. For a guy his size with his metabolism to be this wrecked the next day…

Though perhaps her own tolerance was a little too high for her own good to be a fair judge.

She got up and brought the chair over to the front of the bunk and sat before it, putting her feet up on the bunk itself, just able to see the helmet over her knees.

“I’m never drinking again.”

She allowed herself a laugh. “How many times have you said that?”

He held up a hand with four fingers extended, then dropped it back down.

“You can still count it on one hand. Not bad for someone your age.”

“We’re the same age.”

“I lost count four years ago.” She shrugged. “Done puking?”

“Think so. Yadier ok?”

“He was a little fussy this morning, but he’s fine.”

“Did he… get anything last night?”

“I handled it.”

She was quiet as he let out a sigh and drifted off again, lost in the haze of not-sleep. She tried to piece together the scraps of thought that came off of him, tried to piece together what to say, tried to figure out how to salvage the wreckage.

After several minutes, he asked, “Did you know?”

She breathed a long sigh. “I knew about the general tactic. Had my suspicions about your situation.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Remember that conversation we had about cognitive dissonance?” Sitting out in the yard at her hangar one night, by the fire. About a month ago. It felt like years.

A long pause ensued before he answered. “That was you telling me.”

“Yeah.”

“You were right.”

“Yeah.”

“I made a horrible mistake.”

“You were brainwashed and pushed into it when you were twelve.”

“I don’t remember the part where making excuses resolves the issue.” Din’s petulant streak was rising to the surface, but she couldn’t find it in herself to blame him.

“So what now?” she asked instead. “Keep throwing good time after bad? Screw the whole thing and chuck the helmet? Something in the middle?”

“I can’t just throw it all away. If I’m not… if I’m not a Mandalorian…” His voice broke, and he had to stop for a moment. He took a long, shaky breath, then continued. “If I’m not a Mandalorian, then _what am I_?”

“Death Watch wasn’t the only Way. Can you be a different kind of Mandalorian? Go a different Way?”

He was quiet for almost a minute, lost in what it all meant. He had asked himself that very question two days ago, on their way here, wondering about the possibilities of combining the complementary strengths of Mandalorians and Jedi. He remembered backing off of it, remembering the oath he had sworn. “It’s more than that. It’s…” Another pause. “Do you… believe in souls?”

Ah yes. Break the Creed, get denied entry to the _manda_. “My experience with most religions is that they use the idea of a soul just to hold it hostage to make people behave a certain way. Good Mandalorians get admission to the _manda_. Good Jedi get to come back as Force ghosts. That sound about right?”

“… So that’s a no.”

“Correct.”

“… So when you die…”

She turned her hand over, empty palm up. _“Naas.” Nothing_.

Another long pause before he continued. “You’re ok with that?” His voice betrayed a slight tremor.

“Yeah. No pain. No suffering. Just… done.” Her mind fell back to the year after Hayes died, her first year without her husband. How much she had wanted exactly that. To be done. To feel nothing.

Yeah, she was still ok with that.

Her mind turned over again, on to more pressing matters. Something that might give the broken warrior before her something to pull himself back together for.

“So I was thinking. About if we find Yadier’s people. I don’t know if you’re ready to hang up the nomadic lifestyle thing. But if you are. Maybe we wouldn’t have to leave him. Maybe we could stay with him. Keep him. See if we can… fit in.”

Din took a sharp breath, wondering how the option had never occurred to him. Then, reality closed in. “They wouldn’t accept a Mandalorian.”

“They accepted you on Sorgan.”

“They _hired_ me on Sorgan. I’d be an intruder to Yadier’s people.”

“You’d be bringing one of their lost children home. That’s gotta count for something.”

He gave a semblance of a shrug. _Maybe_. “What about you? Leave your shop?”

“I can start another. Leave the old one to my niece. It’s not like I’m leaving anyone behind back there.” Rayne paused, letting that all sink in, belatedly realizing what she was offering. A path forward to a permanent family. One that maybe she wouldn’t have to give up.

If it sounds too good to be true…

“We have to deal with Gideon first, though,” she said, almost as if to remind herself. “Those fob scramblers won’t last forever, and you two stand out in a crowd. Last thing we want to do is lead him to a world full of Force-sensitives.”

“Agreed.”

Din closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. He had not forgotten the resolutions he had made to himself the night before, as booze-soaked as they were. He was still _dar’manda_. Not that Rayne cared, apparently. She might have more reservations about burning Death Watch to the ground. Or, given their record, maybe not. She was right about Gideon, though. They had to take him out.

So. Take out an Imperial remnant. Find their son’s people. Find and destroy a Mandalorian terrorist group.

Big agenda for a man without a soul.

Rayne brought her feet to the deck and leaned forward in the chair. “Wanna come back inside? Get cleaned up? Get back into that glorious bed?”

On the one hand, it sounded nice. On the other…

He needed the tight space of the bunk. The bulkheads that guarded him so closely. The feeling of safety provided by hard, unyielding walls. His memory of the bunker flashed through his mind once more, cowering on the floor as his father closed the cover…

Rayne let out a sharp exhale, her eyes pinned to the visor. “Din…” Her voice rasped over his name.

“You saw that?”

She lowered her gaze. “Yeah. You kinda threw it at me.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

She took a deep breath, eyes tracing the entrance to the bunk. “It explains a few things.” What was claustrophobic to her was comforting to him. What threatened to trap her offered protection to him. He _liked_ it in there.

The little boy hiding in a concrete hole had grown into a man seeking refuge in a metal box.

“Do you want me to stay?”

His chest tightened. He knew she didn’t like it in here. He knew what he must look like, right now. He didn’t deserve her offer. “I’m kinda gross right now.”

She shrugged. “I’ve passed out covered in your blood. This is pretty tame, in comparison.” She paused. “But… if you want to be alone…”

“No. I don’t.” The words spilled out faster than he would’ve liked, but there they were.

“Okay.” She pulled her boots off, and he made room for her as she crawled in behind him, laid herself along his back, and draped an arm over him.

He was kinda gross. Usually, if he smelled like anything, he smelled like leather, wool, and steel. Right now, he was a mix of boozy sweat, leather, beskar, and bacta. Toothpaste lingered as well, having at least done a thorough job of eliminating the side effects of emptying his stomach.

But it beat passing out in an enormous puddle of his blood. So. Progress.

He threaded his fingers through hers and tucked their hands under the chin of the helmet. “Thank you,” he whispered. _I don’t deserve you_.

She pressed her forehead to his spine through his shirt, between his shoulder blades, feeling the gentleness in the hold he had on her hand.

That part of him had still survived, then.

“You’re welcome.” _Doesn’t matter. I’m here anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that officially, Paz Vizla is unrelated to the Death Watch Vizslas. But, damn, this is just too juicy for me to give up, so I’m gonna go with it.


	10. The Surrendered Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Rayne run into a couple of Din’s “old friends.” It’s horrible.
> 
> And yet, it all pushes Din into doing something that just might help him heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another gratuitous Game of Thrones reference presented itself and I couldn’t resist. 
> 
> I am so sorry.

_I’m coming up on infra-red  
There is no running that can hide you  
‘cause I can see in the dark  
I’m coming up on infra-red  
Forget your running, I will find you_

Placebo, [Infra-Red](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fISvc-yUU1A)

* * *

They walked together in the Coruscant night, letting themselves get lost in the lights, letting the infinite skylines swallow them up. A Mandalorian in beskar armor painted the color of dried blood, Amban pulse rifle slung across his back, walked side-by-side with a woman, seemingly unarmed, in black leggings and a sand-colored wrap.

Din needed to get out, walk around, clear his head. Rayne was curious about the progress of the Federal district since her last visit a few years ago. Reesha shooed them out, she and Yadier clearly having taken a shine to each other. Zavin, well, he had a new frog leg recipe he wanted to try out, and he knew a receptive audience when he saw one. Already, they were _ba’vodu_ , aunt and uncle.

Din was unused to the press of crowds. He’d been to Coruscant only once before, an intriguing Underworld job that he’d worked with Ran’s crew in the Bad Old Days. Otherwise, he’d made an effort to avoid the Core in general, and now found himself quite literally up to his eyeballs in throngs of people of all species, shapes, colors, and sizes. He handled it fine for the first half-hour or so before it started to wear on him. He endured it for another half-hour because the wide-eyed expression on Rayne’s face indicated that maybe she’d spent a little too much time on a dustball planet by herself over the last few years. After that, his anxiety grew to a level that she was able to detect, so she steered them to a lesser-populated area.

Normally, none of it would have bothered him. After the existential crisis of the previous day however, things were far from normal.

They walked in silence, the rifle on Din’s back mostly for show to make it look like he was working, shepherding Rayne on some sensitive errand. The silence was deceptive, existing only in an outward way. She sensed the churn of his thoughts, though the only specific thing she could discern was the steady beat of “ _dar’manda_ ” every so often. It broke her heart to listen to, unsure of how the abuses that Death Watch had leveled against him as a child meant that he had lost his soul through any violations of his own. Asking him about it would get her nowhere right now, and he was unlikely to bring it up himself, so she decided to bide her time, assuming there was a long game here to play. Instead, when the noise from his mind got particularly loud, she hooked one of her fingers around his, just for a moment, not daring to make eye contact, not daring to project affection in public, just enough of a nudge to remind him that she was there. That he wasn’t alone.

It would calm him for a short time, until he inevitably started right back up with it.

The bucket had allowed him to get through life with only regulating his emotions insofar as they drove his body language and his voice, and to say that his posture and vocal tones were expressive was an understatement. He’d never had to learn to control his facial expressions, and that lack of restraint was evident in the way his mind was a sieve to the Force. The beskar dampened it with distance, but when she stood right next to him, it didn’t matter.

For a man of such few words, his mind spoke volumes.

Eventually, they managed to find themselves on an empty street in an industrial district, closed up for the night, establishments dark and empty.

Careless of them, really.

The blade was in Rayne’s hand before she even realized it had been thrown at her.

She turned and caught another one before she’d gotten all the way around to see the purple Twi’lek behind them. Rayne and Din both ducked for cover in the doorway of one of the buildings as blaster fire lanced out from the direction they were headed in.

Well, this was fun and unexpected.

Din tossed his chin in the direction they’d come from. “You take her. I’ll handle the blaster fire up front.”

“Sure.”

Din pushed off and hauled ass across the street, drawing the fire, pulling the Amban around, head turned pointedly to the source of the shots. _Come and get me, asshole_.

Rayne stepped back out into the street. _Bring it_.

Furious, the Twi’lek threw three more blades. Rayne caught them all, plucking them from the air with the casualness that one would use to pick fruit from a vine. Schooling herself to patience, she made a show of looking at them in her hand, then holding them up as she looked at her assailant. “Thanks,” she said, and then slid them into her pocket.

The Twi’lek screamed and rushed her, growling the entire time she closed the distance between them. Rayne turned half a step back with her right foot, then remained still until the last moment, when she hooked her left fist into the side of the Twi’lek’s head, just to the front of the lekku.

Xi’an’s world went black.

* * *

Din flanked his quarry, once again finding himself behind Mayfeld as the ex-Imperial “sharpshooter” searched for his target.

“You never learn.”

Once again, Mayfeld screamed, but at least he managed to turn himself around this time. Of course, being a sharpshooter meant he was nearly useless in a close hand-to-hand fight. Din almost felt bad for him when he put a fist through his face and knocked him out cold.

Almost.

* * *

Rayne watched as Din appeared around a corner, a body slung over his shoulder. When he reached her, he dumped it, this one a human male, next to the Twi’lek. She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. “Old friends of yours?”

“Scar right here,” he tapped the inside of his right shoulder with his left hand.

Rayne nodded. She knew the one. One of the fresher scars on him.

He gestured to the Twi’lek. “She put it there.” He took a long sigh. “The prison transport job.”

Rayne nodded. He’d given her the broad strokes a few weeks ago. “So this is Xi’an.”

* * *

The first thing Mayfeld was aware of was the sound of wood scraping across wet pavement. The second thing he was aware of was that he was sitting on a crate with his hands bound around a pole behind his back. He heard the creak of wood just in front of him, as if someone had taken a seat on a similar crate.

“Wake up.”

The voice seemed to come from the inside of his own mind, and he snapped his head up, almost against his will. Before him sat a woman with short chestnut hair, just long enough for curls at the top, leaning forward, elbows propped on her knees, hands loosely clasped. Staring straight into him with steely blue eyes.

He caught the flash of bekar to his right and looked to see Mando twenty feet away, leaning back against a wall, arms crossed over his chest.

He looked to his left and saw Xi’an in much the same state he was, sitting on a crate and bound, but still unconscious.

“Xi’an!” he snapped. “Xi’an! Wake the hell up! Hey! You hear me?”

“Eyes forward,” the woman spoke, and again, he seemed helpless but to obey.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“How did you find us?”

“I asked you a fucking question. Who the fuck are you?”

“How did you find us?”

Just as he was working up the saliva to spit in her face, her hand was around his throat, slamming his head into the pole.

“The easy way is I ask the questions and you answer them. The hard way is I pull the answers out of your head myself. So one more time. How did you find us?”

He met her gaze, tilting his chin to indicate the figure to the side. “Mando tell you what he did? He tell you he left us for dead in a prison transport? He tell you he murdered her brother?” The last was punctuated with a tilt of his head in Xi’an’s direction.

“He filled me in on the details.”

“Better watch your back, sister. Won’t be long till he has you hanging from his whipcord around your neck.”

“How did you get off that transport?”

“Up yours.”

“Last chance.”

“Fuck you.”

“Alright.”

Din watched as Rayne released her hold on Mayfeld’s throat. Against all predictions, the merc remained perfectly still as Rayne seemed to stare straight into him.

Din couldn’t help but notice a cold chill wrap around the base of his spine.

Mayfeld was pinned between the eyes before him and an invisible force around the rest of him, locking him still. He didn’t even have the will to fight it; fighting never occurred to him. The face before him betrayed no emotion, no effort. With a dawning sense of terror, he felt his mind open before her, as if the skin was flayed off his skull and the bone cracked clean through before the scalpel was brought forth to pry between the folds of his brain. All of the inborn cruelty one man could possibly harbor. All the things he had done. All the people he had killed. All the people he had robbed. All the women he had raped.

All of it.

Except for what she wanted.

He simply did not know how he’d had the dumb luck to stumble upon Mando and his new companion.

The only thing she did find was a memory of a cell door opening, a Stormtrooper standing on the other side of it. The Twi’lek exited before Mayfeld. He turned back as he stepped through the door, only to see the trooper shoot and kill the Devaronian following him out.

Then it all went black.

Knowing she’d reached a dead end, Rayne sat back. “Go to sleep,” she said.

Mayfeld’s chin dipped to his chest and his eyes closed.

A knot formed in Din’s stomach as he watched Rayne slide her crate over to Xi’an, sit back down, and say, “Wake up.”

Things didn’t go much better with her, even if it was a completely different interrogation.

Xi’an seemed to writhe against the pole, as if she enjoyed the fact that she was bound to it. “Did you lock me up here or did he?” she asked, casting a longing look at Mando, mouth open in a smile, running her tongue along her teeth. Her gaze returned to Rayne. “Did he ever tell you how he used to handcuff me to his bed?” She closed her eyes and squeaked at the memory, so vivid that Rayne couldn’t help but see it in her own mind. See them together. Xi’an opened her eyes and locked her gaze on Rayne’s. “Does he ever lock you to his bed? Oh, he doesn’t, does he? Not so eager to keep you there. So plain. How long does he last for you? Hmm? How many times has he made you come in one night before he finally lets himself go? Has he given you five in one night? Five, I think it was. His record for me.” She smiled, lips closed this time.

 _Yeah? I know his name. I’m the mother of his son_. _I’ve touched his hair._ Rayne held back on the words that were at the front of her mind. She remembered her training, how the Jedi masters had warned her against the seductions of the Dark Side, how it was used to take the truth and twist it just enough to speak a lie and invite betrayal. Regular people could do the same thing with regular words sometimes, and that’s all this was. She understood the truth of Xi’an’s words, but even from twenty feet away and through a layer of beskar, Din’s terror spoke to the lie of their meaning. He had cuffed Xi’an because he’d been terrified of her. He had taken so long with her because he’d been terrified of her.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Rayne said, her voice soft. “How did you find us?”

Xi’an closed her eyes and lifted her chest with a deep inhale, then let it out. “Do you smell that?” she asked. “The smell of leather soaked in blood. His hands still smell like that when he takes the gloves off.” Another deep breath, eyes still closed. “The smell of his sweat mixed with the beskar in his helmet. It runs down through his hair and into his cloak.” One more breath, and then her eyes opened. “The smell of my cunt all over his cock. I was there a long time before you were.” And again, that open-mouth grin. “I can track him across the galaxy.”

Rayne appeared unmoved. “Okay.”

Only this time, when Rayne began the real interrogation, her target shrieked with dread.

Xi’an felt the probe of her psyche, felt the violation, and her mind exploded with horror and rage and fear, howling against any further breach.

Alarmed, Din straightened up as his hand dropped to his sidearm. Rayne backed off and held a hand out in his direction, palm down. Xi’an sobbed, head down, broken. “Go to sleep,” Rayne murmured, and Xi’an quieted.

“What did you do?” Din’s words were almost a hiss as Rayne approached him.

“Surprisingly little.”

He pointed to the wrecked mercs behind her. “You call that a _little_?”

“You really want to argue about damage control, bloodgloves?”

He lowered his hand, breathing out a sigh. “Point taken. What did you learn?”

She shook her head. “Not much. They weren’t explicitly sent here by anyone. A Stormtrooper let them out of their cell on the transport. I didn’t get any sense that they have any idea who Gideon is. They don’t even have tracking fobs. As far as they’re concerned, they found us by dumb luck.”

“What do you mean, _as far as they’re concerned_?”

She turned back to look at the mercs. “Depending on what kind of Sith power Gideon has at his disposal, he might have been able to push them to find us, somehow. Track us through the Force. We’ve only been here a few days. The galaxy can be a small place sometimes, but not that small, even if word has gotten around about us being here. I don’t know.”

“That makes more sense than them attacking us the way they did on their own. Xi’an would’ve come after me, not you.”

Rayne nodded. “You’re right. We have to operate on the assumption that Gideon is able to influence people to come after us.”

“What do we do with them?”

She turned back to face him, looking up into the visor. “Mayfeld deserves to die. He’s deserved it for a long time. The galaxy is better off without him in it.”

She heard the click of him taking a hard swallow. “Xi’an?” His voice cracked.

“You know why she’s like this, right?”

He was silent, chest rising and falling with each breath.

“She was sold, Mando.” Rayne was careful not to use his real name outside. “She was used pretty hard before you crossed paths with her.”

He turned to look in Xi’an’s direction. “Can you wipe her memory?”

“Yeah, but I can’t replace an hour-long gap, or make up a reason for why Mayfeld’s dead, or re-write her motivations for being here. She’d realize what we did to her.”

“Can you wipe the whole thing?”

“Sure. Make her a vegetable. That really what you want?”

He bowed his head. “No.”

“I recommend a painless exit.” She paused, and he answered with a nod. “I can do them both.”

“No,” he said. “It should be me.” He drew his sidearm and walked towards them. “Wake them up. They should die with their eyes open.”

She made it happen, and the mercs lifted their heads to his approach. He wasted no time with Mayfeld, lifting the blaster. The other man got as far as opening his mouth to voice a protest before Din put a bolt through his head.

He lowered his weapon and turned to Xi’an.

Rayne had the sudden realization that this was familiar, that she had seen this before.

Her dream. The night before Din and Yadier had arrived at her hangar.

Xi’an looked up to him, eyes sad, an expression he had never before seen on her face. “I dreamed of killing you for so long,” she said. “I dreamed of cutting your throat and taking that bucket off to watch your face as all the blood ran out of you.”

He lifted his blaster to her head, and goddammit, he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What color are your eyes, Mando?”

“Brown.” His voice broke.

“I lo-”

He pulled the trigger.

At that range, there wasn’t much left. Her blood mixed with Mayfeld’s on his gloves, on his clothes, on his armor. He holstered the weapon, turned, and walked away, head down.

Rayne followed at a short distance, scanning, keeping the path before him clear.

Reesha was there to greet them when they returned, Yadier in her arms, her smile fading to shock when she saw the blood on Din’s armor. Heedless of her expression, he headed straight toward her, arms out to take back his son.

Rayne, knowing what Reesha was seeing, knowing she saw nothing but a blood-soaked, fully-armed and armored Mandalorian stalking towards her, the very same Mandalorian who had captured her and frozen her in carbonite years ago, ran to catch up. She held her hands up, palms down, as non-threatening as possible. “It’s ok. He can take Yadi upstairs.” She knew he needed this, needed to reconnect with their son to ground him back to their current focus. Reesha shifted her attention to Rayne and, seeing the confidence there, handed the baby to his father. Rayne extended a hand to Din’s upper arm. “Let me take the rifle.” He dipped his shoulder so she could undo the clasp on the bandolier and pull the Amban free. “I’ll be up in a bit.” He responded with a nod and left.

Reesha pinned Rayne with an alarmed expression. “Was he covered in blood?”

“Yeah. We had a run-in with some old friends.”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“They’re dead?”

“Yeah. They won’t bother anyone again.”

“And when their bodies are found?”

“They were mercs. Not the kind of people the authorities are going to open an investigation for.”

Reesha ran a hand through her hair. “God, Rayne. Between last night and tonight… Is he…” She dropped her gaze, then brought it back up. “Is he ok?”

“He’s… rattled, but holding up enough. I think.”

“How are _you_ holding up?”

Rayne let out a sigh. “I’m fine. I knew what I was getting into.”

Reesha lifted an eyebrow. _Are you sure?_

“He won’t hurt anyone under this roof. He quarantines himself before it comes to that. He demonstrated that last night.”

Reesha nodded. “Very well. Go see to your Mandalorian.”

Rayne dipped her head in a small nod and left.

Before heading to their room, she first stepped back outside and went to the Razor Crest. Keying the port ramp open, she walked up and into the hold, then went up the ladder to hang Din’s rifle by the door to the flight deck. She went back down the ladder and headed to her locked drawer. Currently, the only things in there were her lightsaber and sparring sabers, each in their respective boxes. With great care, she reached into her pocket, pulled out Xi’an’s knives, and placed them in the drawer. She would find an appropriate box for them later. Maybe even teach herself how to use them, at some point. But for now, it was best that they be kept out of sight, from both Yadier and Din. Locking the drawer, she swept her eyes over the hold, confirmed that everything looked as it should, descended the ramp, and buttoned the ship back up.

She entered their room to find the lights dimmed but not off, not immediately finding Din or Yadier. “We’re over here,” his voice called from the walk-in closet recess around the corner.

She found him sitting on the floor in the back of the closet, his back against the wall, Yadier in his lap, clutching a new plush frog that was nearly as big as he was. Din had already changed his clothes and washed the blood from his armor, and she could hear the clothes unit at work from the other side of the room. Yadier released his hold on the frog and held one arm up, asking to switch parents. He always did that – wanting to be held by whoever was the latest to walk in. If Din got up, left, turned around and came back in, Yadi would want to go back to him. She crouched to scoop him up, then sat back against the opposite wall to face Din, sliding her leg next to his.

The closet was large as far as closets went, but seemed small enough for Din’s requirements at the moment. The light was off, but enough light from the main room filtered in to see by. No doubt he needed the shelter to be found here, punctuated by the fact that he’d put his armor back on immediately after cleaning it and changing his clothes.

He breathed out a long sigh. “Well, that was horrible.”

“Yep. It was.”

Yadier voiced a long burble, his tone subdued, as if in agreement with his parents.

“Is it even ok for him to see me like this?”

“Yeah. This level is fine. He knows it’s not all sunshine and roses by now. It’s good for him to see us work through it. That he knows he’s still safe with us even when we’re not feeling right.”

“Okay.” He tipped his head back into the wall with a thud and took another breath. “You handled Xi’an well.”

“Not gonna lie. She was creepy.”

“Yeah. She was.”

“So… what did you see in her?”

Another sigh. “I was lonely. Stupid. Wanted to end a five-year dry spell and there weren’t any other options.”

She allowed herself a small smile. “Desperate.”

His shoulders shook with a sharp exhale. “Yeah.”

She pressed her leg against his. “No judgment. I’ve been there.”

“You said you got along with your exes.”

“I said I got along with all the exes who are still alive.”

The helmet tipped to the side as the words sunk in, but he couldn’t bring his own words forward. Not so soon after what he’d just done.

She turned her foot into his thigh. “You’re not the only person in this closet to kill an ex.”

“What happened?”

“I chose poorly. I sort of knew what I was getting into, but, y’know. Youth and foolishness and all that. I left when it got to be too much. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and tried to rearrange my face. I rearranged his spinal column instead.” Once again, her tone was oddly conversational, as if she was talking about a difficult engine repair instead of taking the life of someone who had threatened hers. “Can I ask a harder question?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Why didn’t you kill them in the first place? You knew your actions were going to kill everyone on Ran’s station. Why spare Xi’an and Mayfeld?”

 _Because I seem to have a harder time killing a person I slept with than I do with collateral damage._ One more bit of evidence as to the absence of his soul. Too horrified by that particular truth to consider it further, he went with the lie he told himself the first time around. “I was counting on the New Republic to deal with them when the ship got to its destination. It was a mistake.” He saw the look of skepticism cross her face, like she knew that it was unlike him to let someone else do his dirty work. He just wasn’t ready to give her that answer, yet. He decided on a tactical change in the discussion. “Your set of connections has otherwise been more helpful than mine.”

She laughed. “This is true. You owe me big time.”

She was right. He did owe her. And his heart ached because he had nothing to give. His soul was lost.

And with it, all consequences of breaking the Creed.

 _Dar’manda_.

He could take the helmet off right now and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference for his soul. But the thought of it still made his stomach threaten to turn itself inside out. The shame of it. Rayne thought she knew who he was. But if she were to truly see him, she would understand the monster he really was, see all the sins written on his face. She would take their son and leave the Mandalorian terrorist, put as much distance as possible between their son and the dark forces that brewed in his mind before he could corrupt Yadier. If anyone could turn the brightness of Yadier’s being to the Dark Side, it was his own father, raised for war, talented only in the murder of others.

“Din?”

He opened his eyes, forgetting that he’d closed them. Remembering that yes, he did owe her. He would not, could not, give her the sight of his face, but he could do something else. He turned his head toward the closet entrance. “How’s your night vision?”

She lifted an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic, but went with it anyway. “The Force allows me to navigate in the dark. I can tell where objects are, what their general shapes are, if they’re moving. No colors or anything.”

He was silent for a long time, and she almost thought he’d fallen asleep, were it not for the pace of his breath. “Can you see faces?”

Oh. _Oh_. “No. It’s more like… what everyone else sees in a shadow, I think. My hands would tell me a lot more, but no more than for anyone else. If… that’s allowed.”

“It is.” Again, he was silent for a long time, and his posture was weary against the wall. Yadier was asleep in her lap, face buried in his new frog. She remained still, gaze soft upon his visor, waiting. Finally, Din pushed himself up off the floor and offered her a hand up. “Let’s get him to bed.”

“Yeah.”

They tucked him into his new pod, frog and all, both gifts from Reesha and Zavin. Satisfied he was down for the count, Din clicked the button to close it up, moved it to the adjoining room, and returned. “It’s completely dark in here when the lights are off and the windows are polarized.”

“Is it.” It wasn’t really a question.

“I need a shower.” He turned and headed to the bathroom, then stopped and turned back when he realized she hadn’t followed. He bowed his head. “I’m gonna need your help if I’m doing this in the dark.”

She approached, eyes locked on the visor, and stood before him.

He flicked the light switch off.

It was, in fact, completely dark.

In the absence of light, sound is amplified. In the absence of light, the click of shed beskar becomes a crack. The rustle of shed clothing becomes an avalanche. The draw of breath becomes a storm. Her hands were on his shoulders, rising and falling with each breath he took when he brought his hands up and pushed his fingers through the short hair on the back of her head. “Will you be my armor?” His voice was rough.

“I have been your armor since the day we met.” Her voice was not smooth, either.

“Will you protect me?”

“I have always protected you.”

“Will you leave me defenseless?”

“I will defend you for as long as I am in your life.”

She heard him take one last swallow, one last breath, and then he brought his hands to the bottom edge of the helmet, broke the seal, and lifted it off.

The sound of his unmodulated breath touched her ears. The first time since she had needed to remove his helmet to save his life. Only this time, instead of harsh and ragged, it was soft. Vulnerable. She slid her hands up the sides of his neck and got as far as his ears when she felt his hands around her wrists. Gentle, but firm. “Shower first.”

“Okay.”

She took him by the hand and guided him in, guided him through until the water rained down on them both, washing away the earlier horrors of the night. He fumbled for the soap until she handed it to him, and then he ran it through his hair and over his body, as if trying to shed what he was earlier, undergo a metamorphosis before revealing himself to her anew. She followed his lead, if only to get the blood out of her hair. Only then did he reach out for her, bring his hand to the back of her neck to pull her in, and press his forehead to hers, the gesture he had fought off for so long now finally possible, chest heaving, breath labored even above the sound of the falling water, drawing his nose along hers.

Finally, she brought her lips to his, tentative at first, surprised to find them so soft. He escalated quickly, pressing himself fully to her, allowing her to bring her hands up and explore the planes of his face. The silhouette of him in her mind was complete, now, the shape of his head, one she knew to be enduringly round from before, complemented by a strong jawline and distinctly curved nose when he turned to profile.

He brought her hand to him, breath desperate against her ear. Understanding his strategy, she gripped him, letting him yield to urgency now so that he could afford patience later. It wasn’t long before he shuddered against her, teeth sunk into a gentle bite at the place where her neck met her shoulder. He pulled back and kissed her, and she could taste the salt of his tears.

They stepped out and she dried them both, and then she led him to the bed.

Their custom had been for her to retrieve the wrapped package from the drawer and offer it to him, a symbol of her offering him protection in exchange for his disarmament. The practice had never been necessary, given her circumstances, but he had been unable to break himself of the habit. She was not Mandalorian. This was the Way. Now, after what he had learned, that no longer seemed to matter. She, the enemy sorcerer, protected him better than any Mandalorian ever could. He had nothing to prove to her. He needed no defense against her. To the contrary, he wanted no further barriers between them. Even more, he wanted… he wanted to give of himself to her. It didn’t matter that there would be no seed to plant. That wasn’t the point. The point was to give her at least as much as what he had given anyone else. In return for all she had already given him. For all she had yet to give. So when he heard her slide the drawer open, he reached in the dark and stilled her hand. “Is it ok if we don’t, anymore?”

Her response was immediate. “Of course.” His intentions were much brighter in her mind, now, with the helmet no longer between them. Taking his meaning, she turned to face him in the dark, and pulled him down so she could once more place her lips upon his. “I’ve wanted you this way for a long time,” she whispered.

“Lie down,” he replied.

She did.

He sank to his knees and she felt the brush of the stubble on his jaw along the inside of her thigh as he paid his debts.

Oh, he was way better with his mouth than she expected.

Gentle. Still, so gentle.

He tasted every inch of her. Made up for lost time. Lips soft against her skin, drawing goosebumps as she felt his breath upon her for the first time. For the first time in ages, he felt the light tip of a tongue along his earlobe, and he nearly came undone right then and there.

“Is this better?” he murmured, lips pliable against her jaw. “Without the helmet?”

She let out a long breath, gripping the hard length of him. “All the Mandalorian Iron I want is right here.”

He groaned, a mix of desire and indignity, and brought his teeth to bear low on her neck, more to her shoulder, and placed another longing bite there.

At long last, their connection was made with nothing between them, all barriers removed. She pulled his head close, threading her fingers through his hair, feeling his breath on her cheek. And when her release approached, it crept up his spine and no was longer stopped at the base of his skull. No longer did it surge at his throat, blocked by the beskar helmet. Now it crept up his jaw and over his face and through his eyes and all the way into his head and he felt it as his own when it all came down on them both all at once and they surged together.

A few moments. An eternity. Neither one of them really knew.

He lay on his back and she traced the lines of his face, studying him with the tips of her fingers. Along his jaw. The outline of his lips. The ridge of his nose. The top of a cheekbone.

He flinched when she ran a thumb along his eyebrow, grasping her wrist with the same reflex used against anyone going for the helmet, yanking her hand down and away, the action complete before he even realized what he was doing. She yielded immediately.

“Sorry…” he spoke into the dark. “Recurring nightmare.” The same every time. The sun beating down on him, without his helmet, without his armor, nothing but a wooden spear in his hands, and he’s screaming. Screaming in a language he doesn’t understand, not knowing what he’s screaming about. And somehow, a giant bald man pulls him to the ground, puts a fist through his face, knocking all the teeth out of his head, and then giant thumbs descend to his eyes…

He told her all of this, told her he didn’t know why, only that it started about six years ago of its own accord.

“Fair enough,” she answered. “I’ll stay away from your eyes.”

* * *

Back at sifting through the data again the next day.

Din had set the Mandalorian history aside for the duration. He’d had enough for now, and Reesha allowed him to keep an encrypted copy to look through later, warning that he was to forget where and how he got it if he was ever caught with it. Instead, he busied himself with a list of bars and cantinas frequented by smugglers, not understanding why it was in a Jedi archive, but knowing these places were often good sources of information, none the less.

Yadier was tucked into his left arm, dozing, exhausted after a day of being out on the town, each of the four adults taking a turn with him in the _birikad_ while taking a break from the work. Reesha had picked up a convincing set of costume lekku as a disguise to cover his ears the day before. While he was otherwise far too squat to pass for an infant Twi’lek, it was convincing so long as he stayed in the _birikad_. Din was profoundly disturbed by the idea of carrying around a baby Twi’lek, but he’d kept it to himself. There was no way Reesha could have known.

At least Yadier wasn’t purple.

Zavin was looking through clone trooper tech when he made a startled “Huh.” Everyone looked up at him for several moments, but when he merely continued reading, they went back to their own work. He seemed to have gathered his courage by the time he shared an image to the main projector five minutes later. “Anyone wanna take a guess about what this is?”

The image that floated and rotated above the table was a blob that looked like several muscle fibers bound together.

“Looks like bantha jerky gone bad,” Rayne said.

“Incorrect. Anybody else?” Zavin waited a beat before continuing. “This,” he sighed, “is an inhibitor chip. Implanted in the brains of every single clone trooper during fetal development.”

He paused to let that sink in, eyes taking a measured look at Rayne as she kept her expression blank.

Din wondered if Zavin knew about Eagle.

“The chips contained the protocol for Order 66. The clones had no choice but to obey it.”

Rayne pulled her hands from the table and into her lap, lowering her gaze.

“He couldn’t help it, Rayne,” Zavin said, his voice quiet.

Din had his answer.

“It explains a lot,” Reesha added in a measured tone. “The perfect compliance to an atrocity. They were programmed.”

 _Like a bunch of fucking droids_. Din managed to swallow the words before they were out of his mouth. Instead, he slid his foot so it pressed against Rayne’s under the table.

Rayne didn’t know which was worse. The thought of her _ba’vodu_ taking an instantaneous turn to a heartless murdering machine, not caring if he killed her, or the thought of him fighting himself, unwilling to kill her but compelled to do it anyway, his own actions beyond his control.

Which had it been?

Did it matter?

She looked once more at the chip, then returned to her work without comment.

Everyone else took the hint and continued as well.

“Here’s something…” Reesha shared a document up to the central projector sometime later. “A Jedi. He was a pilot in the Resistance. Oh, hey! He’s the guy who blew up the Death Star – Luke Skywalker. He’s starting a new Jedi Order. This could be-”

“Absolutely not.” Rayne interrupted.

Din tilted his head. Of the two of them, he had not expected Rayne to be the one to voice an objection to reaching out to a Jedi.

“Rayne?” Zavin’s voice was cautious. “What’s up?”

“I am not taking my son to Skywalker.” Her voice was cold steel.

“What’s the problem with Skywalker?” Reesha asked.

Rayne lowered her gaze, shaking her head, closing her eyes. How was it that so much of her life was defined by one night? How was it that every hangup she had was the result of one singular event? She was so _tired_ of it. She was so tired of explaining why she was the way she was by describing it in bits and pieces because telling the whole thing at once would just tear her apart. The whole thing happened almost thirty-five years ago and she still wasn’t over it, and that alone pissed her off to an enormous degree.

But here she was again, having to explain how _Order-fucking-66_ was getting in the way.

“The problem with Skywalker is that I watched his father slaughter a dozen Younglings. The problem with Skywalker is that his father was _Darth fucking Vader_. I’m not letting _that_ guy touch _my_ kid with a hundred meter pole.”

Zavin sighed, canceling the image of Skywalker from the projector. “Can’t argue with that.”

They worked a little while longer, and Din uncovered a mention of Maz Kanata in his list of smuggler bars and cantinas. Turned out she was also Force-sensitive, though not a Jedi. Her only rule appeared to be “All are welcome. No fighting.”

Zavin snorted. “You’ll get thrown out after ten minutes.”

Din gave the sort of shrug that said _you’re not wrong_.

Rayne had been silent since the exchange about Skywalker. Now, she pushed away from the table and got up. “I’m gonna go check something on the ship.”

That seemed to be code for _I’m gonna go have a meltdown_ , by now. Her exit was far less dramatic than Din’s had been, so there was likely less cause for concern. None the less, Din watched her leave, then took a measured sigh. “I’ll give her a few minutes and then head out.”

* * *

He stood by the ladder to the flight deck, listening, hearing her uneven breaths from above. She’d left the door up there open, a clear enough signal. Still, after what she had just said, the memories she had shared with him over the last month, he knew what her reaction to the armor would be. He shed the beskar, stacking it on the bunk, making just enough noise with it so that she would know what he was up to. He finished with his gloves, placing them on the pile before he ascended the ladder.

He found her curled up on the starboard jump seat, knees pulled to her chest, facing out through the windscreen, taking in the view of Coruscant’s nighttime skyline. “Hey.” He kept his voice soft.

“Hey.” She did not turn to face him.

“Can I dim the polarization?” _Can I make it dark enough in here to take the bucket off?_

She considered. The reason she came here in the first place was for the view. A place of protection that wasn’t closed off. If he blocked the screen entirely, the flight deck would just become another closet, which was the exact opposite of what she needed. “Can we keep the skyline?”

“Yes.” It took a minute to get it just right, but after a while, the brighter lights of the city were muted, the outlines of the buildings remained, and it was dark enough that all he could see of her was her shadow, and that was all she would be able to see of him.

She heard him lift the helmet off and place it on the console. She turned her head as he approached, her view of the indigo sky above blocked by his silhouette. He knelt before her, placed a tentative hand on her kneecap, and waited.

She placed her hand over his.

He leaned in, and she let him pull her knees around his ribs, let him pull her shoulder to his head, let him wrap his arms around her.

The tears were done. All she could do was tremble and breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She couldn’t respond, so she brought her arms up around him, fingers spread wide over his shoulder blades.

“It’s been a rough few days,” he said, voice quiet.

She nodded against the top of his head, his hair soft against her face.

“I trust your judgment,” he whispered.

“Thank you.” She couldn’t trust Skywalker. Deep in her gut, she knew that path would not end well for Yadier. “I won’t let our son fall to the Dark Side, Din. I _can’t_. I can’t fail on this.”

“I know.” He felt her shiver against him. He remembered Yadier’s choke-hold on Cara. He knew the potential their son carried, both for good and bad.

“I know,” he whispered again, holding her.

* * *

She took her son out to the balcony, the sweeping view of Coruscant laid out before them, and had a seat on the bench, holding him so he faced her. He looked up at her with those huge brown eyes, ears relaxed, knowing what she was feeling was important, knowing what she was about to say was important.

“I love you so much, Yadier,” her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “You need to understand this. We both love you so much. I don’t know if your father says it. If he doesn’t, you need to understand that he wants to.” Yadi had taken the Mythosaur pendant out and put it in his mouth, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “I’m not good at it either. The important thing is that you know how this feels from us, that you know what it means.” She lifted him up to place a kiss at the top of his head and then rested her head on his. She cradled his little body in her hands, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to feel.

Allowed him to feel the weight on her heart when she thought of him, her desire to teach him all the things she knew, her sorrow that she had so little to offer, her instinct to protect him, her wish to provide for him, to help him grow, help him gain strength, give him what he needed to someday face the world on his own.

“We will be with you for as long as we can. We will give you everything we have so that you can be your best. We know you will be so much more than us. We will do everything we can to protect you. Point you in the right direction. So that someday, when you’re all grown up, you can use all the gifts you have to make the galaxy a better place.”

Din stood several paces back, that tightness in his chest getting a good hard grip on him, as he listened to Rayne offer their son all the promises a parent should make, realizing that he had the ability to follow through on them, knowing she did as well, overwhelmed at the point that she did all this without ever having parents herself. Promising to provide what she herself had never received.

Unable to stand it any longer, he approached, footsteps silent, knowing they could sense his arrival anyway. He eased himself down to the bench, knees grinding, and put his arm around her. He started to lean his head into hers, caught himself, and pulled back.

“It’s ok,” she whispered, not turning her head. “He should see this.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, the glint of reflected cityscape lights shining off of the thin line of tears that ran down her face.

He leaned back in, and with a gentle weight, rested his head against hers, meeting his son’s gaze. Yadier’s face was wet with his own tears, but smiling. Din took his glove off and ran his thumb along the edge of Yadi’s eye, picking up the wetness there, then brought his hand up to Rayne, pulling his fingers through her tears. He rubbed his thumb and fingers together, mixing the tears of mother and son, and let out a shaky sigh, making it clear that he was going to need time later to dry out the inside of his helmet, as well.

At such close range, the beskar did little to hide him from them. The emptiness in his life that they filled, the wounds of both his body and soul that they healed, the steel of his will with which he would protect them. They had held him together when he had broken to pieces, and he vowed to give them everything he had, everything he was, in return.

He didn’t need the words.

They felt it to the very core of their souls.

* * *

Din traced the scar over Rayne’s left shoulder as she fell asleep, feeling the smooth texture of it in the dark. The short hair on the back of her head bristled against his cheek. The taste of her lingered on his tongue.

Zavin’s question still pulled at him.

_“What is she to you?”_

His hand dipped lower to trace the leather string at her neck that held her _buir’ruk_ , the symbol of their shared parenthood. The name of the line that bound them together through their son was inadequate, according to Zavin, despite the fact that it was where Din’s thoughts always went first. What was the name of the direct line?

None of the words in Basic quite got it. _Girlfriend_ was just stupid. _Partner_ was too dry. _Lover_ was both overly romantic and incomplete. _Crewmember with benefits_ was also stupid.

Even Mando’a seemed to lack anything quite right. _Cyare._ Beloved was the closest translation. Seemed too soft of a word for her.

He’d vacillated over the last few days between the conviction that she and Yadier deserved better than him and he should leave them once Yadier was settled, and the hope that maybe they could all stay together, that he would somehow manage to fit in without having to change who he was and be accepted.

The problem was that he didn’t know what he was to himself, anymore. Warrior. Mercenary. Bounty hunter. At the base of it all, he’d always been a foundling. Above it all, a Mandalorian. Now, he realized, he’d just been a spoil of war instead. A Mandalorian by conscription. It all felt so wrong. The need to make it right was taking root in him. The need to avenge his parents and the foundlings with the blood of Death Watch.

Before he could figure out what Rayne was to him, he had to decide if he wanted to continue being a father or become a wielder of vengeance. The two were likely incompatible.

He also had to decide if he was ready to let go of Omera. More and more, he was becoming a different man than the one who had left Sorgan almost a year ago. If he went back without Yadier, he may be unrecognizable to her. 

His hand slid to her hip. Not so much a sweep as it was an outcropping of bone and muscle. He wondered what he was to her and realized he was afraid of the answer. Regardless of which one it may be.

Yadier was the only thing he was sure of. His safety and their responsibility, their _mission_ , as his parents to get him to his people. Rayne would do everything in her considerable power to make that happen. And for that…

For that… he felt…

He felt…

Like he had too many questions and not enough answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have way less of the next couple of chapters written than I would like so I might not be able to update this next week. Fear not! I have a stand-alone ready, so keep an eye out for that if nothing shows up here.
> 
> Stay healthy, everyone.


	11. The Orbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clan heads to Maz Kanata for advice. 
> 
> Din’s coming apart at the seams and Maz sees right through him.
> 
> “And here we see the primary difference between you. Mandalorians die for Mandalore. The Jedi die for everyone else.”
> 
> It... also might be someone's birthday...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a day earlier than usual. Today is Pedro’s birthday!

_They are one person  
They are two alone  
They are three together  
They are for each other_

Crosby, Stills, & Nash, [Helplessly Hoping](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyquqw6GeXk)

* * *

They prepared to leave for Takodana the next day, Maz Kanata’s establishment appearing to be the best lead to Yadier’s people that didn’t point directly to Skywalker.

Zavin motioned for Rayne to join him on the balcony. “Thanks for coming back for a few days.”

“Thanks for having us. Sorry we were… more disruptive than we anticipated.”

Zavin shrugged as if he’d expected all of it. He was married to a spy. He was used to crazy. “Should I put your Mando on retainer to make sure you come back?”

Rayne considered his words. _“My_ Mando?”

“You call him something else?”

“His name. When it’s just us.”

Zavin quirked an eyebrow. “So you know what it is. That’s big.”

“Normally, yeah. But Gideon knows it too, so we’re surprised that it hasn’t gotten around yet.”

“Hm. He know yours?”

“No.” She knew what he meant. Her _real_ name. “What’s this all about?”

“I asked him what you were to him. He couldn’t give me a straight answer. I want to see if that goes both ways.”

“You want to make sure I’m not making the same mistake with him that I made with you.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

Zavin shrugged again. “So. Are you?”

“I’m… not getting ahead of myself.”

“Look. I understand about the kid, but… do you even like this guy?”

“I do.” She sounded surprised, even to herself. “Despite everything, he’s trying to do the right thing. He gave up everything for Yadier. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

“Does he make you happy?”

She paused. They’d had more than their fair share of curveballs thrown at them and survived. When they weren’t dodging those, her time with Din thus far had been… on balance… pretty good. “Yeah. He does, actually.”

Zavin dipped his chin. “He’s no Hayes.”

Rayne shook her head. “No one is.”

Zavin couldn’t help but wonder what his old friend would think of all of this, were it at all possible for the dead to look back on the ones they had left behind. He would want Rayne to be happy, in whatever form that took. For all of his social awkwardness, Hayes had been a happy guy, and had always managed to infect others with his mood. Silly, sometimes to the point of absurdity. He had been exactly what Rayne needed in those days. Warm. Trustworthy. The only person Zavin knew who could pry the open armor of her soul and, depending on the day, depending on what she needed, either draw her out or slide in there with her.

What would he think of Mando?

On the surface, the two men could not be any more different.

Hayes had been short and stocky, lousy with a gun, had never been in so much as a fistfight, and quick with a joke; an open book who had made you just want to hug him no matter how tough or stoic you thought you were. 

Mando was… the exact opposite of those things.

And yet.

Perhaps their similarities were more important. The way the Mandalorian tracked Rayne’s movement into or out of a room. The way he brushed the back of his hand along the back of hers. The gentle tone of his voice. The very distinct impression that he would lay down his life for her.

Just as Hayes had done.

* * *

Reesha stepped up the Razor Crest’s rear ramp for the first time in four years, Yadier’s old crate in her hands, filled with his clothes, toys, and blankets. She was casting her gaze over the carbonite unit when Din slid down from the flight deck and thumped to the floor. He turned and saw her there, her hands full of his son’s belongings instead of the binders he’d put her in those years ago.

How so much had changed.

He dipped his chin, unsure of what to say.

Reesha smiled. “Whaddya say? Toss me in there and freeze me in a block for old time’s sake?”

Her tone was light and had the desired effect as Din blew out an approximation of a laugh and reached for the crate to relieve her of it. “Zavin and Rayne wouldn’t see the humor in it.”

She followed him in, looking around, reacquainting herself with the ship. “Was it always so small in here?”

He shrugged, not one for rhetorical questions.

“I’m surprised Rayne can stand it.”

This time he did pause to respond. “She makes it work.” He remained still for a moment, not facing Reesha, but looking toward the bunk instead. “How bad was it?”

“She had a panic attack right before her third sortie. Climbed into an X-wing, put the helmet on, froze up, took the helmet off, climbed back out. Made the lateral move to the tech side. She was fine for test flights, but she couldn’t hold it together for combat. It’s too bad. She was the best pilot on that carrier.”

Din turned to stow Yadier’s things. “Best pilot on the ‘Crest, too.”

“I was right about you, Mando.”

He gave only a brief look in her direction as he worked.

“You’re not half the asshole you try to make yourself out to be.”

He turned away to stow the empty crate. “I’ll have to try harder, then.”

She shook her head, hearing the smile in his voice.

* * *

Hyperspace enveloped the ship once more.

Din sat back, staring at the navicomp. Staring at the date. Wondering how it had snuck up on him like this.

Today was his forty-fifth birthday.

He’d survived forty-five orbits of Coruscant around its sun.

Big fucking deal.

Birthdays had been solitary occasions for him since leaving his childhood covert. Not that Mandalorian birthday celebrations were actually much of a thing. They served only as a Coming of Age for one rite or another. He’d told Alaria of how his parents celebrated their birthdays and his when he was little – a picnic lunch in the park, situated in a small oasis, the only green area in his village. She’d laughed at first, like she thought it was silly. He’d avoided her for weeks after that. Realizing her mistake, she’d apologized profusely. From that point forward, every year for his birthday, they skipped class together and she brought him lunch to share in his room. Even after swearing the Creed, they sat back-to-back, helmets at their sides, and shared a meal once a year.

Until he was eighteen. That was the last one he’d shared with her.

With anyone.

After that, he’d been on his own. Out in the world. Finding a lack of any reason to celebrate or anyone he wanted to celebrate with, he lived the day as he normally would, and at night, locked himself in his room, wherever he happened to be, and drank until he felt like stopping. The volume depended on how horrible that year happened to be or how tired he was at the moment. He was a lightweight and he knew it, so it wasn’t a terrible amount in the grand scheme of things. The one exception was when he turned thirty-eight.

Until that point, he’d marked off the milestones his parents had made by his own years. His parents had met when they were twenty-five. He was sleeping with a woman who had a blood fetish and scared him half to death. His parents married when they were twenty-seven. He had just half-stolen/half-bought the Razor Crest and escaped Ran’s crew, out on his own. His parents had brought him into the world when they were thirty. He had just joined the Guild, still living his day-to-day life alone.

His parents were both thirty-seven when they died.

So, yeah, thirty-eight was a big one. Given the kind of life he lived, he’d bet himself even odds of outliving his parents, and somehow, he’d managed it.

He’d spent a couple days at the covert he was based out of at the time, dropping off bounties with his Guild contact, getting paid, dropping the money off at the covert, re-supplying. He’d had the good fortune to cross paths with someone who he’d spent time with before, a foundling herself, and spent the next sixteen hours getting laid. It had been a while for both of them, would likely be a while before the next opportunity, so that’s generally how those things went. She was good. She was friendly. They treated each other well enough. And when they’d finally wrung everything they could out of each other, they parted ways.

Two days later happened to be Number Thirty-Eight.

Finding himself alone once again, possibly-maybe-probably experiencing withdrawal after spending time with someone he actually liked, realizing he’d outlived his parents, realizing he was still on his own with little to show for it at the age when his parents had been married for ten years, birthed and raised him for seven of those years, and then lost their lives, he drank himself to oblivion.

Tucked into the corner of his bunk on this very ship, slipping through hyperspace somewhere on the edge of the galaxy, maybe hoping that he wouldn’t wake up from it.

He came-to the next day on the floor in the fresher, telling himself he was never going to drink again.

Representing finger number three of the four he’d held up when Rayne asked him how many times he’d told himself that.

The sound of Rayne sighing in the starboard jump-seat behind him brought him back. He swiveled around to see her gaze fixed out through the windscreen, watching hyperspace ripple by, and saw that her eyes were wet.

Shit.

He kept forgetting that she could sense his moods in close quarters.

She held their son in her lap, dozing off already, opening one eye to regard his father with a sleepy gaze, then closing it once more.

Din slid to the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, and edged one of his feet next to one of hers. “Hey…” he said, pitching his voice low so as not to disturb Yadier. Rayne turned to face him. “I’m sorry…”

A look of confusion crossed her face as she wiped at her eyes. “No, it’s… hard for me to leave Coruscant.” She turned back to the windscreen. “I’ll be fine.”

Woops.

Din let his head hang from his shoulders, realizing he’d been piling onto Rayne’s own crappy mood. He debated the wisdom of telling her that what she was feeling wasn’t all hers, not sure he wanted to get into it. Instead, he decided on a different course of action altogether. “Wanna take the helm for a while?”

She turned back to him. “Sure…”

Din stood up and took Yadier so Rayne could switch seats.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“New project,” was all he said as he took the ladder down one-handed.

* * *

Din worked through the afternoon, hauling crates of gear from behind the galley and lowering them down into the hold. Rayne asked if he wanted help twice and received a curt “Nope” both times. She had the sneaking suspicion that he already had Yadier on it, Force-lowering the crates down the gap, judging from the giggles and quiet mutters of “Good job” down below. Once the crates were down, there was some banging and shuffling behind the galley, then the sound of other things being shoved up the ladder.

At long last, the racket subsided and Din stepped back onto the flight deck. “All done.” His tone was expectant, so Rayne got up and followed him out to observe the fruits of his labors.

The space behind the galley wasn’t quite high enough to stand up in, but it was wide – the full width of the interior of the ship, minus half a meter on each side for the access hatches to the sublight engines. Din had previously been using it for storage, but now, it was empty save for the thin mattress from the bunk below with a spare one next to it, plus the accompanying bedding.

About as good an approximation of a bedroom for two people that could be had on a gunship this size.

Rayne’s eyes went wide. “Din… oh… oh wow… you didn’t… you didn’t have to…”

He shrugged. “Thought you might want better access to the engine hatches so I cleared all my crap out of the way and-”

He cut off as Rayne shoved him hard enough to pitch him forward onto the mattress, but not before he could spin, grab her by her belt, and pull her along with him.

She rolled onto her back, spread-eagled, and took a deep sigh as Yadier crawled in after them, babbling “ _Buir, buir, buir_ ,” as he did when they were all in the same space and it mattered not which parent he eventually wound up with.

“Thank you,” she said, rolling her head to see Din still on his side, T-visor tilted in her direction. He threaded his fingers through the fingers of her outstretched hand. Rayne’s eyes narrowed. “Where’d you put all the gear?”

“The old bunk closet.”

“How much does all that weigh?”

“Few hundred kilos… Oh, shit.” He belatedly remembered that he’d put it all up here in the first place to keep the ship balanced. Now it was all on the starboard bow corner.

She smiled. “I’ll re-calibrate the sublights before we drop out of hyperspace to compensate for it.”

He tightened his hold on her hand.

She looked into the visor for a few more moments, taking the time to appreciate his efforts and what it must have meant for him to rearrange his own personal space for her in such a way. Fully acknowledging that he would be sharing his space with her on his ship for the long haul. Giving up the protection of the tighter space offered by his previous arrangement.

Good god, this man.

For his part, Din thought maybe he could answer Zavin’s question with “roommate.” _Rayne is my roommate. That good enough, you prying fucker?_ He snorted to himself. He liked Zavin. He would mean it in the nicest possible way.

Even if he knew the answer still wasn’t good enough, at least now it was true.

Rayne rolled to her side and looked at him for a few more moments. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He released his hold on her hand, rolled over to watch her go, and stifled a laugh as she banged her head on the low ceiling on her way out. “Bet you wish you had a helmet now…”

“Fuck you…” she laughed as she went down the ladder. She came back up a minute later with a box wrapped in silver foil, careful to duck her head on the way back in. Yadier burbled and clapped his hands, always happy to see shiny things.

Din sat up as she placed the box in front of him. “What’s this?”

“Celebrating the fact that I get to say you’re older than me for the next few months.”

He breathed out a long sigh. “How…?”

“Your Date of Birth was listed on the record you showed us.”

His shoulders dropped. “I don’t… you shouldn’t…”

Rayne poked him in the thigh with her foot. “Oooopen iiiit. It’s for all of us. Kinda goes with the homemaking theme you started today.”

He sighed and picked at the wrapping, then huffed out a laugh when he realized what it was, overwhelmed by the recent memory of his first shared meal in decades made possible by this kind of appliance. “When did you have time to get a blender?”

“I had Reesha pick it up while we were out walking. Open the box.”

He continued, handing the silver foil to Yadier to the baby’s great delight. When he freed it from the packaging, he saw that a meiloorun fruit had found its way into the pitcher. He sighed again and shook his head. “This… it’s… too much…”

Rayne lifted an eyebrow and opened her mouth to remind him of the fact that he had escorted the ridiculous amount of money that she had made across town just a few days ago so that a kitchen appliance and a piece of fruit were not, in fact, too much when she stopped short. She felt the wave of sadness roll off of him, the notion of feeling undeserving, the difficulty in switching gears from how he had normally observed this day on his own. So instead, she got up on her knees to pull herself in front of him, took one of his hands in hers, and brought the other to the side of his helmet, careful to keep whatever pressure she put on it in the downward direction. “Hey… it’s ok. It’s not too much. It’s fine, ok?”

“It’s… you’re… very thoughtful.”

She sat back and cast a deliberate gaze over the new space they were in that he had worked on all afternoon. “And so are you. These things are allowed to go both ways.”

He nodded his head. “You’re right. Thank you.”

She smiled. “See how easy that was? Smoothies for dinner tonight. You’re eating with us.”

Yadier squealed with happiness and let out a string of nonsense.

“One condition,” Din said.

“What’s that?”

“We do not put frogs in the blender. Ever.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

It turned out that the new sleeping accommodations were easily blacked out.

Still, Din closed his eyes in the darkness as he caught his breath, committing the feel of Rayne’s fingers through his hair to memory.

He hadn’t gotten laid on his birthday since he was eighteen. _Twenty seven years_ since Alaria had shared this moment with him.

He couldn’t figure out why Alaria had invaded his thoughts so often, lately. He could only guess that it was something about Rayne that reminded him of her, but he couldn’t place it. Alaria had been Mandalorian to the core, her clan under House Vizsla as far back as the recorded histories went, both parents and all grandparents born on either Mandalore or Concordia, steeped in the _Resol’nare_ since birth. Rayne… was a Jedi orphan who made her own way as she went. The way Alaria swam up through his thoughts normally wasn’t an issue, but this was the first time so close on the heels of being with Rayne in this way and it felt unfair to her. The way he’d compared and contrasted her to Alaria, Omera, hell, even Xi’an when he’d first met her. It wasn’t fair. When she’d done so much to help him and his son. When she’d shared herself with him so willingly.

 _That’s it_ , he realized. The reasons Rayne reminded him of Alaria. They were the only two who had provided him crucial help at crucial points in his life and whom he’d been intimate with. True partners in his life, and yet _partner_ still wasn’t the right word. He did at least have the right one for Alaria. His _S_ _ol’yc_. His First.

The counterpart to that, of course, was _Kyr’yc._

Last.

But that was a qualitatively different thing, wasn’t it? With its own word.

But not one that he would allow into his thoughts. Not when so much stood in the way. The matter of his lost soul. The matter of Death Watch.

Focus on the present, then. Make the most of what he had. He let out a sigh and focused on the woman he was with right now.

Focused on the way her hands roamed his face, catching her fingers with his teeth whenever she gave him the chance. Focused on the taste of her lips. The feel of her ribs under his hand as she breathed.

Forty-five turned out not to be so bad after all.

He had found a son. He had found a mother for his son. He had found a clan. It was ok that they weren’t Mandalorian. It was ok that they were both enemy sorcerers. They were _his_ enemy sorcerers. He was _their_ Mandalorian.

Rayne grunted as she pulled a finger out of his teeth. “Easy there, Old Man. Too hard.”

“Mmn. Sorry. How long you gonna call me that?”

“Three months.”

“Fuck you…” his tone was light as he said it, mirroring her response from earlier in the day.

He felt her sigh against his cheek. “You just did.”

“Yeah?” He reached for her knee and pulled her leg up over his hip. “I’ll do it again.”

“Feeling spry, huh?”

“Want a demonstration?”

“Come and get it.”

He growled and did just that.

* * *

They arrived on Takodana at Maz Kanata’s establishment in the middle of the afternoon.

“Establishment” was really the wrong word. The place was a castle. A full-on castle. With towers and spires and a courtyard, nestled in a lush forest next to a sparkling lake, and all manner of things that overwhelmed two of its newcomers.

Din and Rayne walked side-by-side up through the courtyard, Yadier floating along between them in his new pod. They came to the towering statue of Maz herself, surrounded by flags of all nations and creeds. Din paused as his eye caught a Mandalorian war banner at the front of the statue, one flag down from its foot, emblazoned with the Mythosaur icon. Rayne saw the Rebel Alliance flag bearing the same Starbird that was inked into her shoulder. Even a flag with the winged symbol of the Jedi order drifted in the breeze.

“Remember,” Rayne reminded. “No fighting.”

“Then why are you carrying your lightsaber for the first time since we met?”

“For Maz.” She had it clipped to the back of her belt, concealed under her shirt. “I’m not sure how much I have to prove, here.”

Din wasn’t sure he liked what that implied. Lacking any other options, he pressed forward. They walked up the steps to the door and could hear the raucous commotion from the other side.

“Ready?” Rayne asked.

Din tipped his head. _Sure_.

Rayne pushed the door open and they stepped through.

A Mandalorian, a Jedi, and a baby walked into a bar.

Everyone fell silent, staring at the Mandalorian.

Rayne stepped closer to Din. “Put your arm around me.”

“ _What?_ ”

“We’re a family. Let’s look like one. Make it clear you’re not here for a fight.”

His hand fell to her shoulder and he pulled her into an awkward side-hug as she patted the top of Yadier’s pod and smiled.

Maz Kanata cast an eye to the newcomers and waved them in. Following her lead, the patrons fell back to their conversations. Serving the pints of beer she had in her grasp at their destination, she approached the trio. “You’re new to this family thing, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rayne answered. “We’d like a room for a few days, along with… um… some advice.” She lifted the covering from Yadier’s head just enough for Maz, and only Maz, to see what he really was.

If Maz was startled, she hid it well, though she did take a moment to lean in for a close peer and adjusted her goggles. “I see,” she said. She then looked up to Rayne. “Ah, yes, I see you as well.” She turned to Din, looked him up and down, and produced a dismissive “Hm.” She turned and headed to the back of the bar. “Follow me! I’ll show you to your room.”

It had been a while since either of them had seen such an eclectic – and dense – mix of patrons in any one place. Rayne had seen a few over various shore leaves during her war years; Din had seen a couple during his time with Ran’s crew. Rayne saw exciting opportunities to witness and learn new things. Din saw exciting opportunities to defeat new threats. They exited the bar and headed down a long corridor, lit by torches every ten meters or so. They ascended a stairwell and continued down another hall and stopped before a door. Maz turned to face them.

“You seek Skywalker.”

“Actually, no,” Rayne said. “Pretty much anyone other than him.”

Maz tilted her head. “And why is that?”

“Because I watched his dad slaughter a dozen Younglings.”

“And you hold the sins of the father against the son?”

“Yep.”

Maz looked again to Din. “Would you have the sins of your son’s father held against him?”

Rayne could only clench her jaw shut.

Maz continued to look at Din. “Would you give your life for your son?”

“Yes.” His response was immediate, even if he had no idea where this was going.

“Would you give your life for his mother?”

“Yes.” Again, immediate.

“Would you give your life for the New Republic?”

“No.” His tone switched from confident to incredulous with the same immediacy.

“Would you sacrifice their lives for the New Republic?”

Uh oh…

Din drew back as if Maz had slapped him. “No. I die for him. I die for her. Everyone else can fuck off.”

Rayne could only close her eyes and bow her head as Maz chuckled and turned her attention to her. Her heart sank, knowing what would come next. “And you, my dear. Would you give your life for your son?”

“Yes.”

“Would you give your life for his father?”

“Yes.”

“Would you give your life for the New Republic?”

“Yes.” Here it comes…

“Would you sacrifice their lives for the New Republic?”

Silence.

Oh, god, she couldn’t voice the answer, couldn’t put the words to it. Because it wasn’t ‘no.’

Rayne’s head remained bowed, but she could hear the clink of beskar as Din took a step back and craned the helmet down at her silence. Could feel the rising tide of his rage at the absence of her answer, at a response that was anything other than a hard ‘no.’

Maz chuckled again. “And here we see the primary difference between you. Mandalorians die for Mandalore. The Jedi die for everyone else.” She pressed one key for the room into Din’s hand, another into Rayne’s. “I will speak with you all tomorrow.”

Din waited for her to descend the stairs before shoving his way through the door.

The room was cozy but comfortable. A decent-sized bed near the window facing the sea, a crib along a wall, a small table with a couple of chairs. Din slung his bag onto the bed while Rayne set hers on the floor and got Yadier settled in the crib.

“Outside. Now.” His voice was hard through the modulator.

Yadier looked up to his mother, a concerned frown pulling down at the corners of his mouth, ears flat against his shoulders. Rayne knelt before him, running a finger along one ear. “It’ll be ok, buddy. Don’t worry. We’ll be right back. We love you.”

Din held the door open for her, gaze lingering on their son, before he followed her out. He pulled the door closed, listened for the lock to engage, then strode down the hall, cloak billowing out behind him.

Rayne followed.

He rounded on her when he reached the end of the hall, fists balled at his sides. “It’s one thing to throw me under the bus for the Republic. I get it. But the answer to the question of whether you will _ever_ sacrifice our son is _always_ ‘ _No_.’” Now his voice was a scorching growl.

Goddammit. Of course, the one time he demonstrates what would otherwise be a normal response, it’s the wrong one. After he had changed so much about himself to become a father, after he had made room in his ship, in his life, in his heart, to give himself over to be a father, she realized that he had no idea what it meant to be the father of a _Jedi_. That even if they were able to keep their son, truly raise him as their own for however much of his youth they survived, the fact remained that given his strength, Yadier would be raised as some kind of Jedi, though preferably not the same flavor of her early upbringing. And for a Jedi to dedicate themselves to any one person or family was impossible, for Jedi belonged to the galaxy. With the power they were given came responsibilities that were unfathomable to others. Responsibilities that, not uncommonly, lead to life-and-death decisions, choices between their own lives and the lives of others.

No one had lately been in the position to make those choices, as a Jedi parent, for their own Jedi child. Perhaps, millennia ago, they had and things had gone horribly wrong, leading to the prohibitions against family that she had been raised with. Then it simply shifted to Masters making those choices for their Padowans. And was that really any different? Never having had a Master, she would never know.

“Even if trillions of lives hang in the balance?” She asked.

“The answer. Is still. No.” He loomed over her, the visor a menacing T in the darkness, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

“The entire galaxy?”

“What part of _don’t ever sacrifice our son_ don’t you understand? We are a _clan_.” He reached out and wrapped his hand around the beskar casing at her throat, the symbol of their parenthood. For a brief moment, he considered yanking it away, taking it back. Thinking better of it, he let it go and dropped his hand back to his side as a fist. “We are loyal to each other. What part of that don’t you get?”

“It’s not about loyalty-”

“The fuck it isn’t-”

“It’s about duty.”

“To who?”

“Everyone.”

“ _Fuck. Everyone. Else._ ”

“You really think you have the moral high ground here?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She looked him dead in the eye, knowing exactly where he was in there, and tapped a knuckle against the center of his chestplate. “Fuck. You.”

He recoiled back, her meaning clear.

The man who had sold his son for a bucket of beskar was in no position to argue this particular point.

His rage shattered as it blew out in all directions. “This is why the Jedi didn’t do attachments.”

“Yes,” Rayne conceded. “Because the things we do are bigger than ourselves. The Jedi spent their whole lives training to make those kinds of decisions. I never made it that far. I only got as far as learning that someday I would probably have to die to save others. But I know enough to know that whatever happens with Yadier, it’s bigger than you and me. That’s the _point_ of all this. Only somewhere along the line, we decided to try and keep these attachments. To try to manage them.” Her voice was shaking, now. “And we are doing a _terrible_ job of it.”

Din was trembling, angry at Rayne for throwing quite possibly the worst decision he had ever made in his life back in his face, angry at himself because he knew he deserved it.

_Dar’manda. Dar’manda._

It pounded in his head.

“Do you need to take a walk?” Rayne asked.

“Yes.”

“I do too. May I take Yadier?”

“That would be better. Yes.”

“Back here in an hour?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Yadier dozed in his pod, hovering next to his mother as she kneeled by the lake and failed at all attempts to meditate.

He knew his parents loved him. Of that, he had no doubt.

Their love for him took various forms. From his father, it was _Keep you safe_. From his mother, it was _Make you strong. Keep you in the Light_. It wasn’t until today that those forms had come into conflict.

He knew his parents loved him. Of that, he had no doubt.

Of their feelings for each other, he was far less sure.

Open conflict was rare, and this afternoon had been the worst of it. Tension between them waxed and waned; sometimes it was a happy tension, sometimes it was an anxious tension. Sometimes they were completely relaxed. He had not figured out the pattern, there.

In the beginning, they had viewed each other as means to an end. Not in a bad way. Their ends were the same: his safety and well-being. The link between them was a vague partnership based on that mutual understanding. That they were more effective together. That link had strengthened during their time on Methuselah as they came to discover their compatibility, discovered that they enjoyed being in each other’s company, and then, finally, when they became a family. The link was tested on Coruscant when something… powerful had happened to his father. He still didn’t quite understand it. All he knew was that something fundamental about his father, some cornerstone, had shattered. He knew his mother had protected him from the violence of the moment itself, distracted him with the happier moments of Methuselah, and he had been happy to allow that distraction, happy to retreat. But, later on, he’d gotten a better look at the aftermath while his father huddled with him in the close confines of the closet one night. He saw that his father had broken into three pieces. One that wanted to love. One that wanted to destroy. One that wanted to run away. Only the first of those pieces was connected to him and his mother. Those links had held, grown stronger in the forge of the discovery of the cruelties his father had endured. But the other pieces of his father had been sent on their separate courses, threatening to escape the orbits that his parents had established around him.

He knew his father was inspecting the link that joined his parents, has tried and failed to put a name to it, well aware of the strain his other two pieces placed on it. His mother had given the link between her and his father far less scrutiny. Afraid that too close of an examination would reveal cracks, afraid that if she prodded too hard, his father would sever it entirely, afraid that she would once again find herself alone. She sensed his father coming apart, sensed the forces that held one piece of him in and pushed the others away.

She didn’t know what to do about it.

Yadier was unsure of what to make of this bond/rift between his parents. They were so afraid to give to each other what they gave so freely to him. Old fears of loss, new fears of rejection, getting in the way. Old wounds that hadn’t properly healed. Lives lived hard, broken and lonely. Their orbits around him were elliptical, drawing close only to pass each other and grow distant once again, cycle and repeat.

He retreated from the uncertainty, closed his eyes against it, wishing very much that his parents would just get over themselves and realize that, at least in part, they both wanted the same things.

* * *

Din walked through the forest, feeling himself come apart at the seams, unsure if he cared anymore.

Maz’s words were a dagger through his heart. _Mandalorians die for Mandalore. The Jedi die for everyone else._ Just a day ago, he had thought of Rayne and Yadier as _his_ enemy sorcerers. Now, he realized there could be no such thing as _his_ Jedi. Rayne was set on their son receiving some sort of formal Jedi training. She would likely follow inasmuch as she would be allowed at this point in her life. He would lose them to the galaxy that they belonged to and there would be no place for him in their lives.

He was _their_ Mandalorian, but they would have no need for him. Wherever they went, he wouldn’t belong there. Their focus would be on the grand schemes that bound the galactic systems together, fighting for noble causes that no one really cared about, that would do little to reach anyone truly in need, representing a centralized Republic that had never done a damn thing for him or the people he’d ever cared about. In the mean time, the best he would be able to manage would be to bring down a Mandalorian terrorist group. A group that, as far as he could tell, may well be the only thing of Mandalore that had survived. And what would be left?

For all his cynicism, for all of his hopelessness, he’d never felt as nihilistic as he did right at this moment.

_What did it all fucking mean?_

* * *

Din found them by the edge of the lake.

Yadier was asleep in his pod at Rayne’s side. Rayne was kneeling, the way she typically sat when meditating, but her posture was stiff.

Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes.

He knelt before her, made possible only by the soft ground being so forgiving to his knees. He took her hands in his and she gripped his fingers. Hard.

“What’s happening to us?” He asked, voice quiet but rough.

“The Force is strong here,” Rayne said, eyes still closed. “It demands honesty.”

“It’s tearing me apart.”

She opened her eyes, knowing what it meant for him to admit such vulnerability. “It does that.”

“Give me your word that you’ll protect our son. As much as you possibly can.”

Her eyes met his though the visor, beskar blue against the afternoon sky. “I swear I will protect him.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again to take it further. “I swear I will do everything I can so that he will make the right choices when the time comes.”

“I don’t… I’m not sure how I fit with all this.”

“We can make it work. But you have to want it.”

Din breathed a long sigh.

“Do you want it?” Rayne asked.

“Part of me does.”

“We’ll start with that.”

* * *

The light from the torches outside filtered in through their window that night, thin curtains doing little to block their dim illumination. Still, she felt his breath along the back of her neck, trusting her not to turn over.

A blindfold lay folded on the windowsill.

She felt the storm of his thoughts even as his hand lay still on her hip, palm open and fingers spread wide. Assured that one part of him, at least, wanted very much to keep this, to reciprocate her desire to remain a family.

The other parts of him lurked not far away, threatening. 

But quiet, for now.

* * *

The next morning, Rayne, Din, and Yadier sat with Maz on the floor in a circle in a small room in the bowels of the castle. Mats covered the floor and the room was lit by several torches at regular intervals along the walls.

Their shadows flickered on the floor.

Rayne’s lightsaber lay on the floor before her.

Maz smiled. “I’m glad you elected to stay the night despite yesterday’s disagreement. Has the Mandalorian come to understand what it means to have a family with those who seek to become Jedi?”

Din sat with his ankles crossed and knees pulled up to rest inside of his elbows as he laced his fingers together. He tipped his head at Maz’s question. “Starting to.”

“We’re not looking for the old Jedi order,” Rayne clarified.

“I understand,” Maz replied, peering at her. “You were raised at the temple on Coruscant. You survived Order 66 and the Purge thereafter.”

“Yes.”

Maz reached for the lightsaber, picked it up, and held it in her hands. She adjusted her goggles, inspecting the weapon, turning it every which way. “How old were you when you found your kyber crystal?”

“Ten.” Old.

“And when you completed construction of your saber?”

“Eighteen.” Very old.

“Did you receive any instruction on how to build it?”

“No.” Like most everything else, she’d just figured it out herself.

Maz activated the blade, and once more, Din was captivated by the powerful hum it emitted. Yadier gazed, transfixed, its yellow light shining in his eyes. Maz swung it for a few passes, testing its weight and balance, then deactivated it. “Sentinel.”

“Yes.”

Maz smiled. “Only a Sentinel could build such a flawless weapon with no guidance. The balance-point of the Jedi. The balance point of your family as well. Your son will likely become a Consular.”

“Yes.”

“And his father walks the path of the Guardians.”

Rayne lifted her gaze to Din, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Yes.” _I told you we can make this work_.

“And you,” Maz turned to look at Din. “The Night of A Thousand Tears was just days before Order 66. You survived that and the Mandalorian Purge as well.”

Din lowered his head. “My covert was still on Concordia. We were preparing to deploy to Mandalore, but evacuated instead when the Siege started. Half of the covert’s ships were destroyed.” Of all the flashbacks that plagued him, this was the least persistent. Ten years old, not yet sworn to the Creed, crammed into the belly of a gunship not much bigger than the Razor Crest with the other Fighting Corps kids. He remembered being curled up on the floor, arms over his head, the lights in the hold flickering as the engines roared and the guns unleashed round after round. Wondering if Alaria and her family were ok on their ship, separated from them for days as they skipped through the hyperspace lanes until finally arriving on another Outer Rim planet.

At that moment, he realized that Rayne had been huddled in an air shaft, listening and watching everyone around her get murdered, beginning her escape at the very moments he was ending his own.

Maz nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to Yadier. “And you. With your Mandalorian father and Jedi orphan mother. Where do you come from and where will you go?”

“He is wanted by Moff Gideon. An Imperial remnant. Preferably alive, but they’ll take him dead, too. I don’t know what for,” Din said.

“Mm,” Maz responded. She turned back to Rayne. “Have you asked him where he comes from? Searched his memories?”

Rayne shook her head. “No. It… didn’t seem right to snoop. I don’t know how to ask him so he’d understand what I was doing.”

“I think,” Maz said, “he understands more than you suspect.” She turned her gaze back to Yadier, smiling once more. He met her gaze, his face a study in trust and warmth. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

Rayne shifted from her kneeling position to a cross-legged one and motioned for Yadier to come sit in her lap. He waddled over, chirping, familiar with the routine from times when he was squirmy and needed calming. He settled down, looking up at his mother as she leaned over him, her eyes searching his. “May I come in?” she asked. “May I take a look?”

He reached up and brushed her nose with a tiny hand, letting out a soft coo. She took that as a ‘yes.’

She closed her eyes and he followed suit. She decided to start with something easy. _Can you show me breakfast from today?_ He did, his memory of her and Din sitting at the table up in the cantina with him, his joy as he gulped down the bacon on his plate. Bacon was _so good_. Almost as good as frogs. Rayne decided to go further back. _Can you show me_ _Methuselah?_ Swimming in the lake with her. Sitting in Din’s lap as he read to him. Watching the meteors streak across the sky from his crate on the flight deck of the Razor Crest. The delight in his heart at all of these things. _Show me your favorite place before you met me_. Sorgan. Or what she thought was Sorgan, given the children he was playing with and the surrounding ponds, ringed by the forest. The one little girl in particular, Winta, the one who Din said had taken to Yadier so quickly. _Show me something from before Din-buir found you_. Yadier’s joy vanished in an instant, and everything went dark. Rayne mistook it as a refusal, not recognizing the darkness of the inside of the enclosed pod that was Yadier’s prison. Her confusion was resolved when the darkness split down the middle, spilling dim light and sliding open to reveal Din wearing battered Durasteel, an IG unit standing next to him, Yadier’s fear turning to hope. Her gut twisted as the IG unit raised its weapon in his face, then released as Din shot it in the head, not even bothering to look at it. She felt Yadier’s hope overwhelm her as Din stood there, frozen for several moments, little more than an immobile T visor, then brought his hand up, index finger a loose point of offering, and Yadier reached out to him. _Can you show me something before that? Before you were taken?_ Yadier’s hope faded once more and images blurred together. Fear descended over him. A brief vision of fire and flash of heat. Another shift followed by streaking lights and screams. Yadi let out a low groan of sadness and pain, a sound she had never heard come out of him before, and it broke her heart. _It’s ok. We’re right here. You’re ok. You’re safe. Can you show me your home? Your parents before us?_ Another groan, a whirlwind of flashes, a stab of pain in his head.

Rayne snapped her eyes open and gave her head a hard shake, glad to see Yadier do the same. “You ok, buddy?”

His tiny lungs filled and emptied in a bigger sigh than one would expect from a body his size. Relieved, but ears still flat against his shoulders.

“You did well, _verd’ika_.” _Little warrior_. She smoothed a hand along one of his ears and raised her head. “Nope, not going there.” She looked back down and ran a thumb along the top of his head. “I think he was injured.”

Maz nodded. “I think you’re right. It was good that you stopped when you did. You’re instincts are true.” The Pirate Queen took a moment to gather her thoughts, then directed her first words to Rayne. “Your Force resistance is remarkable.”

Rayne lifted an eyebrow. “What have you been trying?”

Now Maz leaned back and laughed, hard and full. “You keep a shield up all the time, don’t you? Oh, my. I’ve been trying to get you to scratch your ear all morning and you haven’t so much as twitched a finger. Small stuff like that is usually easy to sneak through. No one thinks anything of it. Most impressive. You must pass this on to your son.”

“We’ve been working on it.”

Maz took a breath and turned to Din. “And what do you make of all this?”

His shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t belong here.”

“No? Where do you belong, then?”

Silence. Stillness.

“Don’t you belong with your family?”

“I’m different from them.”

“How so?”

“They are enem- I… don’t share their gifts.”

“You have your own.”

Din tipped his head in a silent question.

“Much of your Creed is built on opposing the Jedi. Where the Jedi rejected family, you crave it. You’ve pulled one together from scratch. Where the Jedi dispensed with emotion, you channel it. You use it to drive your actions. Where the Jedi resided in the mystical, you ground yourself in reality. You allow yourself pragmaticism.”

“The Creed includes raising my son as a Mandalorian…” He trailed off, knowing that was exactly what Rayne _didn’t_ want, unsure if he truly wanted it, either.

“And what exactly is so incompatible? A Jedi can wear armor. A Jedi can speak Mando’a. A Jedi can defend themselves and their family. Can contribute to their clan. Can rally to the call of a Mand’alor. Can recycle it all back and raise a Mandalorian child. Tarre Vizsla did it. He was both Mandalorian and Jedi. Why not your son?”

Rayne’s stomach turned, and Maz turned back to her. “Much like you wish a different kind of Jedi training for your son than what you grew up with, his father wishes a different kind of Mandalorian training for your son than what he grew up with. Why not both? You’re both making up your own rules now; you may as well go all in. There’s no reason to make it any harder than it has to be. Religions evolve all the time. Pick what works for you. You’re both intelligent people. You’re both _good_ people. Trust yourselves. Trust each other. Trust your son. You can make it work.”

Rayne’s shoulders dropped, relaxing a little. “The fact remains that I don’t know what I’m doing. Not really. He needs formal training that I can’t give him. He also needs kids his age… his _level_. It’s not fair to raise him in a spaceship with no friends.”

Maz nodded. “In this you are correct. I do know of a place. It is not the home world of his people, but I believe some of his people may still be there. The Force is strong there. Many Force-sensitives are drawn to it, as I once was long ago. I believe they possess the expertise, flexibility, and friends you seek.”

Rayne looked to Din, another silent question. He dipped his head in an affirmative.

“Very well,” Maz said. “I will give you the coordinates tomorrow morning. You will store them in a safe place. You will not register them in a navigational computer. You will not commit them to memory lest you be interrogated. They are to be _hidden_. Is that understood?”

Din and Rayne nodded.

They knew all about hiding.

* * *

The clan of Rollins-Djarin gathered once more by the lake. Yadier splashed in the water, once again chasing tadpoles. His parents sat cross-legged on the bank and watched him.

Din was… somewhat mended. Still fractured, but no longer flying apart.

So. Progress.

He decided to allow himself a small shred of hope. Maybe it _could_ work. He un-crossed his ankles and slid his foot next to Rayne’s. The mother of his son. Maybe she _could_ … He saw her turn her head towards him from the corner of his eye and his breath caught in his throat.

“You ok in there?”

“Yes.”

She lifted an eyebrow. She wasn’t buying it.

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come, and once again, he was thankful for the helmet.

She turned her face back to the lake. “Zavin said something interesting a few days ago.”

“I bet he did.”

Rayne shot him a smile at his dry tone. “He referred to you as _my_ Mando.”

Din tilted his head.

She pressed her foot against his. “What do you think? Too possessive?”

“No.” Din followed her gaze to where their feet met, unsure of how he felt about Zavin’s thoughts so closely mirroring his own. “Would it be inappropriate for you to be my Jedi?”

“I’m not really a Jedi.”

“Semantics.”

“Okay, fine. Technically, I’m the rank of Jedi Youngling. At the age of forty-four. Way younger than you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Sounds creepy when you say it like _that_.”

She smiled. “You’re right. It does, actually.”

“What are my other options?”

He watched as her face stilled, considering, maybe running through the same options he’d gone over in his head a hundred times over with no success. Finally, she shrugged. “ _Your Jedi_ is as good as anything, I guess.”

“Not too possessive?”

“No. Just…” she paused, gathering her thoughts. “Remember what it all means.”

He dipped his chin, returning the press of his foot against hers. “You ok with Yadier being both?”

She paused again. “If we do it right. I don’t want him locked in a helmet.” She kept her gaze averted.

“I don’t, either.”

“Assuming he wants… any of this. We have to give him enough to protect himself, enough so he can make an informed decision when the time comes. But it has to be his choice. A real choice. We can’t force it on him when he’s twelve, or whatever the hell age he’ll be.”

Din let out a long sigh. “We might not make it that long.”

She nodded. There was a good chance they wouldn’t. Even if she and Din managed to survive the violence of their lives, old age could very well claim them before Yaider reached adulthood. In choosing to remain his parents, they would condemn him to their loss at an early age. The only handle Rayne had on that kind of loss was her observation of how deep the scars of it ran in Din. He carried them around with him every day. Writ large in the red paint that coated his armor. She cast her gaze out at their son, their giggling, chirping, burbling, frog-eating, starship-lifting, alien-baby son, splashing in the shallow water, once more reflecting on the potential he housed, once more wondering if they could help him tap that potential without ruining his sweetness, without smothering his curiosity, without destroying his happiness. If they could help him develop _what_ he was without undermining _who_ he was. Before they left him during what would likely be his adolescence, even if they were lucky. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes,” Din said, sliding his hand next to hers, hooking his little finger around hers. “We do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, not the chapter I’d originally intended to write, but the next one or two needed some more setup. Or I’m stalling because those are going to be action-heavy and I can’t write action worth a damn. It might take a bit more time to get those done, but I have another stand-alone ready to go so keep an eye out for that if I don’t update here next week.


	12. The Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old enemy shows up earlier than expected, with dire consequences for Rayne and Yadier.
> 
> Din goes to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags. Fair warning – I was raised on a steady diet of Stephen King since the age of five. (Yes. Five. Crazy, right? Might explain a few things.) It shows, here.

_We are ready for the siege  
We are armed up to the teeth…  
How many times do you want to die?  
How many ways do you want to die?_

Silversun Pickups, [The Royal We](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPzU1Uz8ujw)

* * *

They took another day on Takodana to plan their next course of action, re-supply, and, truth be told, enjoy the scenery.

They had found a small open meadow in the forest, filled with wildflowers and warm sunlight. Rayne and Din discussed strategy as they watched Yadier waddle around in the grass, bending over each flower he came to, bringing his nose to it, and breathing in with a deep inhale to give it a good whiff. Every now and then he got a nose full of pollen and let loose with a tiny but powerful sneeze which managed to unlock a chuckle from Din.

For his part, the Mandalorian was still unused to natural environments with such beauty. Sorgan had seemed unreal in its green tranquility. Alas, that peace had been transient, made impossible by the price on their heads. Methuselah had stunned him, with its forests and fireflies and lake and meteor showers. It left him feeling like all the splendor of the galaxy had been spent on that one planet, that there couldn’t possibly be any beauty left outside of it. But now they were here, on Takodana, watching their son sneeze his way through the wildflowers.

It was enough to make Din realize, with sudden understanding, that the galaxy wasn’t completely full of shitholes. He wondered, for a brief, idle moment, if the coordinates that Maz would give to them would lead to a place even half as nice.

He gave his head a short shake, as if to clear it. They had to deal with Gideon first. They had to eliminate him. They could only hope that Gideon was the end of the line, that it went no deeper than him, that no one was pulling his strings in the way he was pulling the Client’s on Nevarro.

“Baiting him is easy enough,” Rayne said. “We just find a strategic location and disable your fob scramblers. I can turn them off without destroying them in case we need to turn them back on again. Once they’re off, he’ll come running.”

“I’d like to have more muscle on our side,” Din said. “I’m pretty sure I can get Cara on-board. I’ll send her a message when we get back.”

Rayne nodded, recalling Cara from Din’s descriptions of his time on Sorgan and their previous battle against Gideon. “Is there anyone else? Any favors you can call in?”

Din considered. Karga still owed him, but he didn’t trust him. Not on this. He’d heard no news about the covert, though he was unsure if he could trust anyone who might remain, given… Paz. Given Death Watch. His connections to past coverts were so tenuous that they were near-useless. The nomadic clan-less foundling life of “no attachments” had served him well inasmuch as it protected him from loss, but it failed in spectacular fashion when it came to social capital. He had none. Aside from Rayne and Cara, he was on his own. In answer to Rayne’s question, he shook his head. “No. Are Reesha and Zavin in the position to help?”

Rayne shrugged, having already considered this option. “Reesha couldn’t find much intel on Gideon, which is… concerning. New Republic is stretched too thin to make any moves on an Outer-Rim remnant without more information. Unless we come forward with Yadier, but we don’t want to do that.”

Din gave his head a firm shake.

“They could probably make an X-wing disappear for us, but we’d have to go back to Coruscant to pick it up and there’s no good way to dock one of those to the Razor Crest, so the logistics on that might not be worth it.”

“Agreed.” Another pause for consideration. “Can you fly a TIE?”

“Yeah. We captured one during the war and it was twitchy as hell, but I can manage it. Got a plan?”

“Not yet. Just gathering options.”

“Hm. What should I know about Gideon?” Rayne asked.

Din took a deep breath. “He’ll make it personal. If he finds out who you are and gets away from us…” He paused, gut tightening. “Your niece… he could go after Hayes’s family…”

Rayne shook her head. “We were married on a star cruiser in the middle of a war. Those kinds of things weren’t legally binding until people could get planet-side at the end of it.” She took a breath, and Din understood the implication immediately. Hayes hadn’t made it that far. “There’s no record that leads from me to them. Or anyone else.”

The tightness in his gut loosened. “Good. His interest in Yadier likely has to do with his abilities. Might be best for you to not play the Force-sensitive card too obviously, if you can help it.”

“What do we do with Yadier?”

Din was silent for a few moments. When he finally answered, his voice was tinged with anxiety. “You want to use him against Gideon.”

“No, I don’t _want_ to. But we might want to add him to the options. He’s more powerful than the rest of us combined. And I have a hunch that he wants to help.”

“What makes you think that?”

Rayne lowered her gaze. “I’ve been getting more… snippets from him lately. Flashes of understanding. He gets that you’ve protected him. He understands that on a very profound level. He also watched you almost die. He’d rather not see that again. He’s… eager to reciprocate the protection you’ve given him.”

“He’s a _child_ ,” Din growled. “He’s not obligated to do anything for me.”

“He’s a fifty-year-old child with enormous power who is beginning to understand the responsibilities that come with that power. It’s not a matter of obligation. It’s a matter of following the example you’ve set.”

Din sighed. How many people did his son watch him kill? He’d destroyed a droid within moments of finding the child. From that point forward it had been a never-ending stream of threats that died by his hand. Not that he’d had much of a choice in the matter. They lived in an unkind world. His son had already killed on his behalf, the memory of the Incinerator Trooper not forgotten. The idea that Yadier, his sweet little boy, wanted to continue in such participation was, on the one hand, horrifying. On the other, the darker, Death Watch Mandalorian hand that still had a firm grip on the workings of his mind, he felt proud. The possibility that his son wanted to be a warrior was assuring. Warriors survived. His son would _survive_.

“Okay,” Din said. “We’ll add him to the list of options.”

* * *

_Cara –_

_Got a good lead on where to take the kid. Need help with Gideon first._

_Found someone who does the Baby Thing. And the Kick Ass And Take Names Thing. Turns out they’re not mutually exclusive._

_You in?_

_\- Mando_

* * *

Rayne tossed and turned that night. Din slipped the helmet back on so she could roll all the way over in the not-exactly-dark room if she wanted to. It set the alarm bells off in his head. Nightmares were common enough for her, but they were brief; a few moments of twitching and whimpers, and then she’d be done, with no apparent pattern of occurrence. She otherwise slept like a rock. The only other restless night she’d had was just before their escape from her planet, when he’d woken up to find her guarding the hatch of the Razor Crest with his rifle across her knees.

Things hadn’t gone so well the next day.

Trusting her instincts, he pulled her to him, and she tucked her head under his chin, once again avoiding the helmet as much as possible. “What’s up?” he asked, little more than a whisper through the modulator.

She took a deep breath. “Dunno.”

“What do you need?”

“Half a bottle of Spotchka.”

That wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but he rolled with it. “We left it on the ship.”

She pressed her lips to the top of his sternum. “We need to revise our packing list.”

“Mm. Anything else?”

She brought an arm up around him, fingertips light along his spine, but made no further moves. “Just you.”

He tightened his hold on her. Eventually, she turned over and spooned back into him, remaining still for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Mando,_

_Sure. I’m in._

_Welcome back,_

_Cara_

* * *

They loaded up the Razor Crest the next morning. Maz gave them coordinates on an unassuming scrap of paper. Rayne scrounged a small box to lock it into, then removed one of the panels in the hull of the cargo hold to hide it behind until they were ready for use.

Before Din could turn to board his ship, Maz stayed him for a moment with a hand to his wrist. “You have a long journey ahead of you, Mandalorian.”

He wasn’t much for vague platitudes, but he responded all the same. “Yes. Thank you for your guidance.”

“Expect to be challenged by those you seek. They will not be inflexible, but they may not be as forgiving of your ways as your Jedi.” She winked.

“I understand.” He gave her a final nod, boarded the Crest, flipped through the ignition sequence, and laid in a course for Nevarro as the engines fired up. Rayne and Yadier settled into the starboard jump-seat as he eased the ship off and into a forward vector, taking their time to break atmosphere to save fuel. Yadier gazed out the windscreen with rapt attention, always enjoying the view as it transitioned from blue sky to black space.

Din took a moment to lock in the coordinates for their first jump when an Imperial Vibre-class assault cruiser dropped out of hyperspace in front of them.

A small ship in the grand Imperial scale of things, but an Imperial ship none the less.

“Oh, shit.” Rayne’s voice betrayed a mix of horror and surprise.

“Dammit,” Din whispered to himself. He slammed the stick to port and pushed the thruster wide-open, but the ship did little more than shudder in response. _Not yet. We’re not ready yet…_

“Get us out of here,” Rayne urged.

“Can’t. Tractor beam’s got us already.”

“Ffffuuuuck,” Rayne gritted the word out between her teeth, forgetting that she was holding a baby. “They’re going to board us,” she realized.

“Yeah. If they were gonna vaporize us they’d have done it already.”

“Rayne Rollins,” Gideon’s voice hailed them over the com. “You thought your absence at your hangar would be overlooked. You were incorrect. You thought your overwhelming defeat of my troopers would be disregarded. You were incorrect. You thought the record of your success at Methuselah would escape notice. You were incorrect. You thought the deaths of Mayfeld and Xi’an would be ignored. You were incorrect. You think you can keep Din Djarin and the child safe. You are incorrect in that, as well.”

“Shit.” She pushed her hands through her hair, but at least the words were down to a whisper. “Shit shit shit…”

“As for you, Din Djarin, you left me for dead in my ship. I will return the sentiment. With interest. I will leave you to die on your ship. I will leave you to die alone. In the cold dark of space. You will choke your last breaths out knowing that I took everything from you. And when you are dead, I will return for your beskar. I will collect it from your body. I will remove your helmet, and I will see the dead face of Din Djarin before I leave him to rot.”

“We’re fucked. We’re completely fucked. Goddammit Din, I fucked this all up.”

It occurred to Din that Rayne hadn’t seen much in the way of actual first-hand combat with Imperial troops.

Rayne was panicking.

Even-keeled Rayne was panicking.

“Calm down. We have one card to play.”

“What’s that?”

“Gideon still might not know you’re Force-sensitive. He definitely doesn’t know you have any Jedi training.”

“How do you know?”

“He would’ve used your real name. If he knew you were raised at the Temple, he would have used the name you had there.”

“How does that help us?”

“Not sure yet.”

They looked up through the windscreen as the Imperial ship grew larger, dragging the Razor Crest towards an airlock. “Here,” Rayne handed Yadier to Din, then moved to the center of the console. “Can I…”

“Sure…” Din moved out of the way and watched as Rayne began entering commands into the comm unit, her hands a blur of motion, her initial panic replaced by sudden purpose. “What are-”

“Hang on.” She entered a few more lines of code, turned, then was off the flight deck, down the ladder, and into the hold, pulling one of her bots from its crate in the back.

Gamma. The one who had aided their prior escape.

Din was at Rayne’s side by the time she had the bot out and started booting it up.

“They’ll override the Crest’s ramp once they get a seal on the airlock,” she said, tapping at a datapad that was linked to Gamma’s processor. “Gideon wants me and Yadier. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. He’s gonna knock us out with gas grenades, take me and Yadi, leave you here, and disable the Crest’s life support.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Oh…” Rayne’s voice betrayed a tremor. “Let’s just say I have a horrible feeling about this.” She handed the datapad to Din. “I’ve set the Crest’s life support to purge the gas and restart two minutes after Gideon cuts it. You should wake up a minute or so after that. I tapped the Imp’s comms and set up a blind spot around the airlock. You’ll be able to get through it and come for us. Gamma has shields, weapons, and can bypass locks, so bring it with you.”

“Wait… since when does that thing have weapons?”

“Since three weeks ago.” _We do not have time for you to be angry about_ this. She looked up into his visor, brought a hand to his chestplate, and curled her fingers around the top edge of it. “I won’t be able to get Yadi out. If you have to choose between him or me, you choose him. Do you understand?”

He wrapped his hand around hers. “It won’t come to that.”

She tugged on his armor. He wasn’t expecting it, and he came forward a step. “Do you. Understand.”

“Yeah.”

One last thought occurred to her. “Bring my lightsaber.”

“I will.”

A series of hollow clangs rang through the hull as the Imperial cruiser locked on.

Din slid the datapad into a slot on the shelf, then held his Jedi and his son to his chest, his back to the hatch, and in true Mandalorian fashion, shielded his family with his armor and his own body as the seal was breached and the grenades were forced through.

* * *

Moff Gideon was no fool.

He had seen the destruction Djarin left behind on the New Republic prison ship. He had seen the footage of Djarin managing to break out of his cell and round up the mercenaries who had betrayed him.

He remembered Djarin sending him to the ground in his own TIE fighter after he’d had the Mandalorian dead to rights.

The Mandalorian was far too resourceful for his tastes. Gideon would not risk having him aboard his own ship. As much as he wished a closer interrogation, as much as he wished to unhelm him while he was alive, to watch those large brown eyes from the childhood records grow round with terror as he brought the Darksaber to the Mandalorian’s throat, he knew better. He would not risk giving Djarin any opportunities. Better to keep him locked on his own turf and kill him from a distance. The pleasure of watching him die slowly would be retribution enough.

The child was his goal. He would not deviate from it.

The woman… Gideon had his suspicions. She was risky in her own right, but he surmised he had much to gain from her, as well.

* * *

Din woke up on the floor of the Razor Crest, on his back, alone, head pounding.

His hands yielded to reflex as they flew to his face. Finding the helmet in place, he took a breath, then pushed himself up to a sitting position.

His family.

The Imps had stolen his family.

Rage welled up from his chest and bloomed red in his mind.

Gideon wanted revenge? Too fucking bad.

Din was going to bring a _war_.

Pulling himself to his feet, he found the datapad tucked into the shelf along the hull. A series of windows displayed points within the cruiser showing movement of the troopers within, and a single window at the bottom, displaying a stationary image of his own body sprawled on the floor. His head snapped up, seeing the camera that had been installed above the hatch, a red light below the lens flashing.

Gideon wanted to watch him die. Rayne had anticipated this, and he realized she’d managed to hack the comms equipment before it had even been put in place.

Good god, this woman.

He scanned through the pad again, searching. Vibres were small, only a hundred meters long and carried a max of sixty troopers, no hangar for a complement of TIE fighters, but it had a boatload of guns. They would have to disable those and the tractor beam to escape. Flipping through the screens, he finally found where Rayne and Yadier were being held. He let out a frustrated sigh – they were on opposite ends of the ship. Rayne was in what looked to be an interrogation cell and Yadier was in a lab.

Din ran the video footage back so he could track their progression through the ship and get the lay of the land. He got to the point where they were separated, and watched as Rayne had lunged against the troopers dragging her down the corridor when parting ways from their son. Three times she had thrown herself against her captors, still incapacitated. The trooper in the lead had turned, and three times, pistol-whipped her in the face with his blaster.

The footage was grainy, but still clear enough to show the splash of her blood on the white armor.

Din committed the splash pattern to memory. The trooper who bore it would receive a particularly creative death.

A loose plan formed in his mind. Despite Rayne’s demand to prioritize Yadier’s rescue, he would go for her first. Their son was under heavier guard and he would need her help to break him free. He would play this very differently from the prison ship. That had been minimally guarded, and he had deliberately prefaced his attack with the red flashing of the emergency lights to instill terror in his foes. He would require more stealth with a ship full of troopers, would need to keep them in the dark as to his escape for as long as possible.

In the dark… now there was an idea.

He keyed his vambrace to Rayne’s comm hack and made a few adjustments.

Time to gear up. He checked his sidearm blaster – good to go. He wouldn’t take his rifle; it would only get in the way for close-quarters fighting. Knife – good to go as well, nestled in its place in his boot. He went to the weapons locker, loaded his belt with charges, and switched out the flamethrower fuel cells for fresh ones.

He had not thought to re-stock on whistling birds when he last saw the Armorer, and the oversight pained him. His eye caught his jetpack, stowed at the bottom of the locker.

Mmmmaybe not this time.

He closed the locker and went to Rayne’s drawer, also keyed to both of their bio-signatures. He pulled it open, reached for her lightsaber, and stopped cold.

Xi’an’s knives.

For a brief instant, his mind fell back, back to his years on Ran’s crew, watching Xi’an sharpen her blades at the same table where he cleaned his rifle. Her offer to sharpen his knife. The memory of pulling it from his boot and sliding it across the table…

What the _hell_ were Xi’an’s knives doing in there?

It took him a moment to recall, to recover from the stutter in his memory, to bring up the image of the way Rayne had plucked the first thrown blade out of the air without even realizing she was doing it. The interrogation that followed. The execution following _that_.

He wrapped his hand around the lightsaber and closed the drawer. They could talk about the knives later. Clipping the weapon to his belt, he grabbed the _birikad_ , Yadier’s harness, off of a shelf and stuffed it between the small of his back and his belt, then went to the hatch.

Time to go to war.

* * *

Her face ached.

For what felt like a long time, that’s all Rayne was aware of.

Like someone had taken a pipe to her face and used it for batting practice.

After what felt like a long time, she became aware of why she felt like that.

_Yadier…_

She reached out with her mind, reached out for her son, and for the first time since Din had brought him into her life, she couldn’t reach him. She reached out for Din. His general state would be nearly impossible to gauge with the helmet on, but she could usually sense _something_ of him even at a fair distance, but for now, there was nothing.

They were either both dead, or she was in a shielded room.

_Overwhelming pain._

Sharp. Pointed. Electrical. Pulsing.

Every fiber of muscle in her body contracted and she froze in agony, too locked up to scream, too locked up to open her eyes, too locked up to conjure a conscious thought.

After what felt like a long time, the current running through her body finally ceased and she fell limp against the restraint across her chest.

“Good morning, Rayne Rollins.”

Gideon’s voice. The same voice from the news clips. The same voice from the hail.

“What brings you to my ship, today?”

“Your… fucking… tractor beam…” Rayne opened her eyes as much as she could, finding herself in an Imperial interrogation chair. It wasn’t so much a “chair” as it was an upright slab with restraints and stabby electrodes. She’d learned a little about them as a kid, been hooked up to one and received a mild shock, along with the rest of her classmates, the beginning of what would have been many lessons on how to resist the kind of thing she was apparently experiencing right now.

Yeah, that would’ve been handy.

“I will instruct you once on how this works,” Gideon said, somewhere out of her admittedly limited field of vision. “I will ask a question and you will answer it. If you do not provide a valid answer within five seconds, you will receive the punishment that I have just acquainted you with. Do you understand?”

She said nothing and closed her eyes.

The agony returned.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Her world went black.

* * *

The knife was a quiet way to kill. Stealthy.

The misconception that slicing the throat was the best way to kill someone with a short blade was a common one. In reality, that was quite noisy. Too much screaming and gurgling and thrashing until the blood finally ran out.

The best way, to kill a human anyway, was to stab them down through a kidney. The pain was paralyzing. Silencing. They just locked right up and down they went. The trick was to get the angle just right. Getting over the back of the pelvis and down through as much of the organ as you could. Stormtrooper armor did a little in terms of getting in the way, but it still left a seam in the back.

You just had to get them to bend over a little, and in you went.

The fifth body went stiff in Din’s grasp, and he lowered it to the deck. Nice and quiet.

It had been a while since he’d killed so many in one day.

But he hadn’t forgotten how.

Oh, no. Not at all.

This body at his feet. This blood on his gloves. This death he brought about. This was his life. What he had trained for. What he had dedicated his existence to.

In this moment, Din was nothing more than a machine of murder.

All else had dropped away.

He moved on to the next target, a trail of blood in his wake.

Unbeknownst to him, Rayne’s bot, Gamma, followed behind at a discrete distance, ready for when it would be needed.

* * *

“Let’s try this again. What were you doing on Djarin’s ship?”

Rayne opened her eyes just enough to see Gideon standing before her, just to her left. Four other troopers stood guard inside of the room. She thought maybe there were one or two others just outside the door, but wasn’t sure. The fuzziness of it gave her hope that this was just a shielded room and would explain her inability to reach her family. Gideon wasn’t taking any chances with her. “He needed an engineer.”

“You abandoned a successful business to become an engineer for a bounty hunter.”

“I was bored.” Her face still ached and talking hurt. She’d never been pistol-whipped before. She hoped never to experience it again.

“Tell me about the child.”

“Little. Green. Burps a lot.” Everything hurt. Except for the parts she couldn’t feel. Things from the knees down felt a little numb.

“Tell me about the child’s abilities.”

“Little. Green. Burps a lot.” Even listening to Gideon’s voice hurt.

The agony returned.

Rayne’s world went black again.

* * *

Oh. Oh, here we go.

The trooper who had struck Rayne in the face with his blaster now stood guard at a door around the corner, her blood still spattered on his armor.

This might be worth making some noise for.

Din strode around the corner, making no effort to mask his presence.

He wanted the trooper to see him coming.

“Hey! What the- You’re not supposed to be here!”

“Nope. I’m not.” Before the trooper could level his blaster, Din flicked his wrist and the whipcord shot out, wrapping itself around the trooper’s throat as Din snapped him back along the corridor. The trooper’s screams were choked off by the cord, but there was still a fair amount of clattering as Din threw him to the floor face-first and pinned him down. He jammed the fist-end of his vambrace up into the front of the trooper’s helmet. With no further prelude, he activated the flamethrower directly up through the seal, breaching it, keeping the writhing body pinned to the floor as the trooper’s initial bucks and twists faded, ignoring the smell of burnt flesh and hair and plastoid armor, ignoring the heat that crept along his knuckles as he kept his wrist wedged into the helmet.

The body stilled at about the same time Din’s flamethrower ran out of fuel. Good enough. He got up, turned the trooper over with his toe, pulled his knife from his boot, crouched back down, and parted the helmet from the body with the head still in it. When turning the bucket over didn’t release the contents, he slammed it to the floor, felt the thud of a skull freeing up from the flesh seared to the inside, then dumped it out onto the trooper’s chest, what was left of the charred face pointing up to the ceiling.

The message was clear.

Anyone who messed with the clan of Rollins-Djarin would _burn_.

* * *

“I’m curious, Rollins. How do you keep getting through the asteroid belt at Methuselah?” Gideon’s voice was all cool, calculated ice. He certainly endeavored to present an unflappable front, though Rayne sensed an underlying impatience.

She shrugged once more at his questions. “I’m a decent pilot.”

“Ah, yes. You are, after all, a Rebel veteran. All those sorties you flew.”

Rayne didn’t respond.

“All two of them.”

_So the fuck what?_

“How does someone who only flew two sorties over the course of a decades-long war get to be the kind of pilot who gets through that belt? With a ship the size of the Razor Crest?”

“Skill and luck.”

Pain, again. Dialed back now, dialed back so that she could not escape through unconsciousness, helpless but to endure it for its full length. Even when it was done, her head was still cloudy, her mind was still off-kilter, still unable to put everything together and figure out how to extricate herself from this.

Gideon let out a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small vid projector, turning it on to bring a two-dimensional image flickering up before her.

The image of Din lying motionless on the floor of the Razor Crest.

“Your captain is dead, now, Rollins.”

She betrayed nothing, meeting his gaze. “So… what, exactly? You win?” The words were slurring out of her now. Her face didn’t seem to work quite right.

Gideon’s brow furrowed just the smallest bit before smoothing back out again. “Think of it as more of a demonstration. I desire certain things. When I do not get them in a timely manner, the people who are the cause of that delay die. Din Djarin caused a delay in my acquisition of the child. He is now dead. I now desire to know where you intended to take the child. If you cause a delay in the acquisition of that knowledge, you will join Djarin in death on his ship.”

“Something tells me I’m going to wind up there anyway.”

“Do you also require a demonstration of my willingness to torture a baby?”

Okay, yeah, fuck that. Time to put the cards down on the table and play the one called _Jedi_. “Yeah, I’m not worth anything to you. You want to let me go.”

She pushed. Hard. As hard as she could manage with her brain half-scrambled and her body half-fried.

Gideon twitched an eyebrow. “And there we have it.”

_Oh, shit._

“An amusing little trick, Rollins, but not one that will work on me. I may have only scratched the surface on _who_ you are, but you just revealed _what_ you are.” He reached out and traced his finger along the leather cord from around her neck to the casing it held. He wrapped his fingers around it and yanked it free to examine more closely, turning it over in his hands. “The Jedi and the Mandalorians were at each other’s throats for millennia. And here we have a Jedi wearing beskar at her throat.” He met Rayne’s eyes. “ _Only_ the engineer?”

She locked her eyes on his but remained silent.

He opened the casing and poured the lock of hair out into his palm. “Curious.” He met Rayne’s gaze once again, his expression concealed behind a mask of calm. “I wonder where else we will find Djarin’s DNA on you.” 

Rayne’s jaw tightened, but she gave no further show of emotion.

Gideon replaced the lock of Din’s hair and closed the casing, then placed it on a nearby tray. “But first,” he said, picking up a syringe from the same tray, “we will collect your DNA and see what it has to tell us.”

_That’s what he wants Yadier for. They’re pulling it from him right now if they haven’t gotten it already._

Physically helpless, she struck out against him with her mind, and he fumbled the syringe, dropping it to the floor. Inhibiting action in another was easier than initiating it, and she intended to inhibit as much as she possibly could.

She thought she saw rage flicker over Gideon’s face, just for a moment. “You cannot stall me forever. The inevitable will happen.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

He raised a fist to strike, but it paused in mid-air, hovering, refusing the commands of his brain to swing it forward.

Unable to strike her with his fist, he drilled into her with his eyes, a silent promise that he would get what he wanted, eventually, and the longer he had to wait, the worse it was going to be for her.

She stared back, trembling with the effort, breath coming in long draws, daring him to try it.

The lights went red.

The alarms sounded.

Gideon’s face twisted with rage.

Then the lights and alarms went out all together, and the room was black. Silent.

She couldn’t help herself. “Or maybe we won’t see, after all.”

_Rayne!_

She heard… _felt_ Din’s voice in her head. He must be just outside the door and projecting with everything he had to get through whatever had blocked her before.

The door blasted open, sending shrapnel and fire through the cell. The troopers returned fire through the new opening, firing blindly in the dark, Rayne able to sense their panic at the realization that their HUDs and coms were no longer working. Din had apparently embellished her hacks into the system.

Good god, this man.

A single shot from the other side of the door struck the control panel for the interrogation chair and Rayne was released from the bindings. With nothing holding her up, she suddenly found herself unable to stand, clamoring for the edge of the chair to keep from hitting the floor. She sensed Din tossing her lightsaber in a moment later. Reaching with both her free hand and the Force, she caught and activated it, the yellow blade emitting just enough illumination to show Gideon escaping through another door.

Seeing something they could actually shoot at, the troopers focused their fire on the lightsaber, only for Rayne to deflect the shots right back at them. It gave Din the opening he needed and he stepped through, ending the troopers with a single shot to each of their heads.

Silence and darkness once again.

Rayne’s saber deactivated as it fell from her hand and she lost her grip on the chair. Din caught her before she could hit the floor. “Hey,” he managed between breaths. “Hey, I got you…”

“I… I can’t…”

“I know.” He got her arm over his shoulders, picked her saber up off the floor, and clipped it back to her belt where it belonged. “How bad?”

“Can’t feel my feet. Brain’s fuzzy. A little cooked from the chair.”

“Want a bacta-phrine shot?”

She swallowed, understanding the implications of his question. They had a lot of work ahead of them, and he needed her whole and present for it to all work. The bacta/epinephrine infusion would get her through it, but it came at a price. She swallowed again. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He lowered her to the floor. She pulled her shirt up while he pulled the small canister off of his belt, shook it up, and moved to straddle her at the hips, pinning her down. She lay as still as she could while he felt for the right spot on her sternum with one hand and popped the cap off of the canister with the other thumb. “Ready?”

He watched her close her eyes from the infrared of his HUD. “Yeah.”

Din slammed the canister to her chest, sending the needle through her sternum, pumping the infusion directly to her heart.

She convulsed against him, once again in far too much pain to scream, and he held her down, keeping his butt planted at her hips, his left hand pressing down at the top of her chest, right hand keeping the canister in place as her fingers raked down his helmet with involuntary twitches.

She bucked into him for a few more moments until it finally abated and she fell back, relaxing, breaths evening out into long, even draws. Her eyes drew shut once more as she felt the pins-and-needles of feeling returning to her feet, her mind cleared, and her strength returned, the cooked-through feeling dissipating.

“You good?” he asked.

She took one more moment to consider. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

He pulled the canister free, making sure the needle came all the way with it, and moved off of her, allowing her to pull herself up and test all of her limbs. She walked back to the center of the room and retrieved the beskar casing, holding it up to draw his attention to it before putting it in her pocket. “Gideon figured out the family situation.”

Din blew out a sharp exhale of anger. The last thing he wanted was to hand the Imp even more information. He turned back toward the doorway, taking a quick peek out before stepping into the corridor. He was mildly surprised to see Gamma there waiting for them, but didn’t acknowledge it, going back the way he came. “What did he try to get from you?”

“Yadier’s abilities. Where we were headed with him. A blood sample.” She sensed him turn his head in her direction as she walked next to him. “I fucked up and played the Jedi card.”

Another angry exhale.

“The lightsaber would’ve tipped him off anyway.”

Din gave a conciliatory tip of his head.

“He stopped asking questions after that, said something about DNA, and picked up a syringe. That’s what he wants with Yadier. Force-sensitive DNA.”

“What does he want with _that_?”

“I think he wants Force-sensitivity for himself. Maybe for a higher-up too, but he radiated a certain… _greed_ is the best thing I can call it. He’s already had some Force resistance training. I tried to Force him to let me go and he barely twitched. Guy’s a brick wall.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. They must have a blood sample from Yadi by now. We can’t let them keep it.”

“We don’t have time for espionage.”

“We have time to set charges. Please tell me you brought more charges.”

 _Of course_. “I only brought enough to disable the guns and the tractor beam. We can’t blow this thing up with the Crest locked to it.”

“Gamma can take care of the guns and tractor beam.” Rayne stopped at a junction in the corridor. “We set the charges in the lab and on the reactor.”

“I didn’t bring enough to bring this thing down.”

“We blow the lab before we leave so they lose any material they’ve gained today and can’t transmit any analyses. We blow the reactor later, when we’re ready to take Gideon. It’ll disable the ship enough to get it within range.”

“Within range of what?”

Din saw Rayne smile in the infrared. “Me and Yadier.”

* * *

Hiding the charges on the reactor turned out to be easy enough – most of the troopers were guarding the lab. While Rayne and Din were busy with that, Gamma plugged into a port and disabled the guns and tractor beam behind a covert firewall. The crew would have no idea anything was wrong until it was too late.

They re-grouped and continued to the lab, passing bodies of fallen troopers along the way. The fact that they were met with no resistance worried them both. It could only mean that all of the forces were pulled back to resist the efforts of the parents to rescue their son. Rayne took note of one particular body strewn on the floor. While she couldn’t _see_ all of the details, she could certainly _smell_ many of them; burnt flesh, burnt hair, burnt plastoid. She sensed the shape of the helmet on the floor and the head… not where it should have been, but placed face-up instead, on the torso of the body.

She cast a mental glance at Din as he stepped over it like it was no different from his other victims scattered through the corridors. The ritualistic display was striking and disturbing at the same time, one more echo of the dark violence that resided in her Mandalorian. She decided to address it directly. “So what’s with that guy?”

“He put his blaster grip through your face three times.”

“Mm.” Fair enough.

They arrived at another junction a couple minutes later when Din held up a hand. “Lab’s around the corner.”

She pressed her back to the wall as he took a quick look around, confident that the troopers’ HUDs remained blind in the dark. Still, she closed her eyes to reach out. “I’m guessing ten troopers in front of the door. Another ten on either side in the adjoining hall down there.”

“I think you’re right. Any feel on Yadier?”

She took a breath. All she could get from their son was an empty blankness. No pain, but a dearth of consciousness far below that even of a deep sleep. “I think he’s sedated. He’s not in any pain, but he won’t be responsive when we get to him.”

Din nodded, familiar with that situation. “Hard to see through all the troopers, but I think there are two others in there with him.”

“Gideon. One other.”

Din had a pretty good guess as to who that was, as well.

“I have a plan.”

He looked down to his left at her, pressed back against the wall next to him, lightsaber in hand, deactivated but ready. All of the panic from earlier cleared away, breath steady, posture tense but prepared. All warrior. “Let’s hear it.”

She gave him the outline, based on old Jedi-Clone teamwork tactics.

“You full up?”

“Yeah,” she rolled her shoulders. “Little high, maybe. Ready to take advantage of it.”

“Okay.” He pushed off of the wall, fished the _birikad_ out from the back of his belt, and strapped it on. He turned to face Rayne, taking a moment to look at her once more. Her gaze met his in the darkness, waiting. Ready. He nodded. “Go.”

Rayne stepped into the corridor and ignited her saber. The troopers responded with blaster fire and Din watched as she swung into action, the yellow blade nothing but a blur as she deflected all of the shots. He turned back to the bot behind him. “Ready?”

It chirped an affirmative.

“Let’s go.”

He drew his blaster, stepped in behind her, got the sense of her swinging pattern, and began to fire past her. She led with her hips and her shoulders, telegraphing her movements so he wouldn’t blast her arms off, and they’d managed to bring down all ten troopers by the time they got to the junction in front of the door. When they reached it, Din fired into the corridor to the left, Rayne deflected the shots from the corridor on the right, and Gamma scuttled up to the door, plugged into the port, and cranked away at the lock.

Din pumped round after round into the corridor as he listened to the heavy clanks of the lock as it gave way at a pace far too slow for his liking. “What’s taking so long?” His voice grated through the modulator.

“Class Seven lock,” Rayne shouted back as she deflected the bolts coming from the other end. “Those take a while.”

“Define _a while_.”

“Five more seconds. Get ready.”

True to her word, the door slid open five seconds later. Din ducked back for just long enough so Rayne could take a half turn and lift a hand to Force the troopers in Din’s hall to the floor. He charged the gap and into the lab, following his HUD to where his son was held.

The red emergency lights in the lab were operational and holding steady in their dim glow. Cabinets formed corridors that twisted left and right at irregular intervals. He stalked by tables lined with jars containing embryonic monsters suspended in formaldehyde, racks of sharply-pointed tools, shelves displaying skulls of humans, twi’leks, and wookies. Finally, he turned the last corner.

“You again.”

“Please don’t!” The same scientist from before, at Nevarro, the guy with the glasses, cowered away from him, huddling in the dim red light. Din turned to see his son, confined to a table once more, eyes closed and unresponsive, as Rayne said he would be.

He holstered his blaster. Once again, he disengaged the panel pinning his son’s body to the table, lifted him up, slid him into the _birikad_ , and tightened the straps around him, keeping him snug to his chest. He turned to the scientist and, hands free, pulled his blaster. “Let me guess. Protecting him again?”

“Yes! He’s more valuable alive than dead!”

“To who?”

A blaster shot flashed from Din’s right and struck the scientist in the head, killing him.

Din spun and snapped off a shot of his own, angry for letting himself get distracted _and_ flanked. He spotted the swirl of a black cloak and armor as it disappeared back around the corner. Pausing to set a charge to the underside of the table, he headed back the way he came.

Oh, he wanted Gideon. Wanted him badly. But Rayne and Gamma were covering him outside, and he wouldn’t let Gideon bait him away. Wouldn’t keep them waiting.

 _I have him. We’re coming out_. He pushed his thoughts to her as hard as he could.

 _Ready_.

He picked up speed as he neared the exit, and shouted when he reached it. “Go! Now!”

Rayne left her position and led the retreat, Din following, with Gamma covering their six. Din hit the button on his vambrace and the deck bucked under their feet as the lab exploded behind them. Back down the darkened corridors. As expected, the remaining troopers had flanked to block their retreat. Rayne cut through the blaster bolts, saber deflecting all of the shots. Some of them deflecting back into the troopers themselves, most heading into the bulkheads. But nothing got through her. Nothing so much as zinged past Din’s shoulders. Nothing got past Gamma, either, its shields holding up against the pursuing troopers.

Din and Yadier were safe in the bubble created by Rayne and her bot.

Finally, they rounded the last corner to the airlock. Rayne sprinted up the ramp, tilting her head as she did so, as if she was listening for something. “Ship’s clean!” she shouted. Din followed her up and she hit the button to close the hatch. He turned to see Gamma plant itself in the center of the corridor, shield spread wide, guns blazing into the troopers on the other side. “Go!” Rayne slapped him in the shoulder, pushing him toward the flight deck. “Gamma’s staying back to cover.”

“Right.” Din bolted up to the flight deck and fired up the engines as Rayne stayed at the hatch, just to make sure. Catching sight of the camera along the top edge, she jumped to grab it, smashed it on the floor, and stomped on it for good measure. By the time she made it up to Din’s side, they’d pushed clear of the airlock and were gaining speed away from the cruiser. “No tractor beam or canon fire yet…” Din said as he locked in their course. He took one last look behind him, at the Imperial cruiser, not quite believing that they’d escaped it on one piece. Then he pushed the Razor Crest to hyperspeed and they jumped away.

Once more, the stars streaked to white and the ripple of hyperspace enveloped them in safety.

He let out a breath, one hand around the tiny body of his son, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady.

Then he heard the thud of a body dropping to the floor behind him.

He turned to see Rayne out cold, the bacta-phrine infusion having run its course.

* * *

Her face ached.

But not as badly as it had before.

She felt something cool and wet against her skin on her face, dulling the pain. She felt the same cool wetness stuck against her ribs. She smelled something sharp and bitter in the air.

Bacta. She was covered in bacta patches.

She opened her eyes and was unsurprised to see the black T of a helmet visor staring back at her.

“Hey,” Din’s voice was soft as he brought an ungloved hand to the undamaged side of her face. “Welcome back.”

She closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand. “Yadier ok?”

“Yeah. He’s still sleeping it off. I found where they did a blood draw on him, but there’s nothing else.”

She nodded. “You ok?”

“Not a scratch.”

“Am I ok?”

He huffed out a laugh. “You had a pretty good black eye going by the time I got the patch on it. Didn’t look bad enough for your cheekbone to be broken. Some burns on your ribs from the interrogation chair. You’ve been out for three hours. Any chest pains at all?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I didn’t manage to give you a heart attack with the infusion.”

“Hooray…” she deadpanned. She opened her eyes and looked around, finding they were in their new accommodations up behind the galley. Din was stripped down to his helmet, T-shirt, and shorts, sitting cross-legged next to her on the mattress, the hand that wasn’t touching her face covered in a bandage. “Hey,” she said, reaching out to it. “You said not a scratch.”

“That’s a burn. Not a scratch.”

“Semantics.”

He shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Got carried away roasting the Stormtrooper.”

She did her best to keep her expression neutral, but was unsure of her success when he shrugged again.

“It’s fine.” He shifted position to stretch his legs out. “We’ll hit Nevarro in eighteen hours. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “Stay put. What can I get you?”

“One of those chocolate nut-bar things would hit the spot.”

He returned in short order with two bars in one hand and a water bottle in the other. She sat up with a confused look as he handed a bar to her, then made a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn around. Face the bulkhead.” She did as he instructed, heard him grunt as he returned to the mattress, felt the pressure of his back against hers, and then heard the seal disengage as he took the helmet off. She froze, sitting with her shock as Din sat behind her, unhelmed with the lights on, crunching his way through a ration bar.

He was a fast eater, getting it all down before she brought herself to even open hers, finally spurred to motion when he opened the water bottle and downed half of it. She took a bite, chewing slowly, surprised that her face didn’t hurt, and accepted the water bottle when he passed it back to her. He continued to sit there, his back to hers, seemingly content to sit and breathe without the helmet while she ate. She got a few more bites down before she found she could stand it no longer. “What does this mean?”

“It means I’m too tired to get up and eat on the flight deck and I trust you to not take advantage of the situation.” His tone was neutral. Not irritated, but not indulgent.

“That’s fair.” She put a few more bites down. Washed it down with some water. Maybe taking a little longer with it than she normally would have.

“I’m… also tired of eating by myself. Yadier’s a handful at mealtimes, but since he’s out of it at the moment…”

“Yeah. I understand.” She finished the bar, finished the water, then tilted her head back against his, listening to him breathe with the lights on.

“You did well today,” he said.

It was strange, hearing his unmodulated voice in the light. It nearly distracted her from answering him entirely. “Thanks. Sorry it took a while for me to pull it together.”

“First time that lightsaber see real action?”

“Yep.”

He took a deep breath, then let it all out. “Imagine what you could do with real training.”

She noticed the subtle change in the tone of his voice. “That a turn-on for you?”

“… Maybe.”

“I’ll get this bacta showered off and see what I can do about that.”

He slipped the helmet back on and helped her up.

* * *

They held each other in the dark.

They went through their most common motions, avoiding anything unexpected, hoping she would find comfort in the familiar, even if they took it a little slower than usual. Gave her a little more time to ease into it. As usual, desires were unspoken, but easily deciphered through the guidance of a hand, the shift of a hip, an approving sigh. When he thought she was ready, when her breath and trembling matched up with previous experience, he moved into position above her. Just when he was about to break with tradition and ask if she was ready, he noticed the change in her breaths from long and deep to short and shallow, noticed the pressure of her thighs against his, the barest hint of pushing away instead of the usual pulling in.

For all the dishonors Death Watch had committed against him and other foundlings, they had, at the very least, done an excellent job of training with regard to consent and physical intimacy.

Mandalorian bodies were living weapons in all situations except for one. Mandalorians. Did. Not. Rape. They did not assume what was wanted. They proceeded only when they knew for certain that they were welcome. Of all the horrifying things he had done, for all of the pain and suffering he knew he had caused, Din, like all Mandalorians, had sworn never to weaponize the one part of his anatomy that was regularly used as a weapon by pretty much every other kind of people outside of the creed.

Mandalorians were bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Soldiers. Often, they were murderers. But they were not rapists. The few Mandalorians who forgot that were summarily unhelmed, stripped of their armor, and executed.

And so, when Rayne pushed back, Din stopped. Immediately.

The only sound in the dark was their breath.

He brought his forehead to hers with a light touch, his weight planted on his elbows. “What do you need?” His voice was a whisper, tone soft.

He heard the sound of her swallow, then the parting of her lips as she sorted through her thoughts. “I need to hear you,” she whispered back. “I need to hear your voice. I need to know it’s you in the dark.”

He pressed his lips to the corner of her eye, then traced down to her jaw line. “It’s just me,” he murmured. Her response was immediate, relaxing into him, her breath evening back out. “It’s just me…” He continued, repeating the words when his mouth was not otherwise occupied, and soon enough, she pulled him in.

Unused to speaking so much, to say nothing of speaking _at all_ while in the one situation where he was not a weapon, he soon lost control of the tone of his voice, embarrassed by the broken sound of it, but encouraged by Rayne’s response at the same time. He slipped further, “ _Shi ni_ …” a repetition of the same, followed by more wrecked Mando’a that she did not understand, words likely deemed by the Clones as inappropriate for Younglings to hear.

The sound of his voice in her ears, the feel of his flesh in hers, the motion of him all around her, was finally enough to let her forget, enough to lose herself in him, enough to pull him with her when she came undone all around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guh. Action is so hard for me to write. A nose-to-the-grindstone chapter for me. Comments are welcome, particularly criticism – if there’s something about the style/pacing/whatever that could be better, I’m eager to hear it. The next chapter will be action-heavy as well (and is barely even outlined!) so any comments here will definitely help me along.
> 
> Hope everyone is doing as well as can be expected and staying healthy.


	13. The Lessons of Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clan of Rollins-Djarin process prior events. Cara joins the crew, gets to know Rayne, and clears the air with Din. They hatch their plan for Gideon.
> 
> Rayne can’t sleep again, and we know what that means…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read through the AO3 bit on author insertion this week and it got me thinking about how I’ve done my best not to do that with Rayne. If you’ve gotten this far you’re likely ok with her, but I figured I’d make a note about the various other characters who inspired her creation:
> 
> 1\. Arya Stark (Game of Thrones): Raised in the lap of luxury during early childhood but still a misfit. Then it all blows up and she’s on the run as a little kid.  
> 2\. Sam Carter (Stargate SG1): Even-keeled military tech-head who doesn’t take anyone’s shit.  
> 3\. Starbuck (Battlestar Galactica): Happiest when pulling crazy moves in a starfighter. Slight tendency to sleep with co-workers. Slight alcohol problem.  
> 4\. Kaylee Frye (Firefly): Has an intuitive feel for starship engines and an inner need to fix broken things.
> 
> The only thing Rayne gets from me is the clumsiness!
> 
> Oh yeah... Tying back to the GoT reference I tossed out a few chapters ago...

_And I feel like I'm being eaten  
By a thousand million shivering furry holes  
And I know that in the morning I will wake up  
In the shivering cold_

The Cure, [Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sS6t56U9tBg)

* * *

Yadier woke from one darkness only to find himself in another.

But this was a different type of darkness. A warm darkness. A kind darkness. A safe darkness.

His parents, not wanting him to wake alone after his ordeal, had brought him in with them before succumbing to sleep, and he found himself in-between them now, sandwiched between his father’s warm bare skin and his mother’s soft cotton shirt.

His memories of before were vague and foggy. His father motionless on the deck, mind muted and unreachable. His mother’s weak struggles against their captors, how he felt her pain as his own when the trooper hit her with the blaster. Once again being trapped in the scary table that held him down, once again being stared at by the strange man with the strange round things on his face whose mind raced between fear and awe and cold calculation. And then everything had faded away.

But now he was home. On the Razor Crest. He was safe. He knew his parents had come for him. His parents had saved him.

And even as they slept, he sensed that the bond between his parents had strengthened. The rift between them had narrowed.

He was hungry. He squirmed and yawned, stretching his arms and legs. He was too tired to do much of anything else besides try to say “frog,” “yogurt,” and “ _buir_.” Either one of the foods in his belly given by either parent would be absolutely fantastic right now, and so the words spilled out of him, still unable to get them quite right, but he knew they would get the message soon enough.

Both of his parents woke.

Rayne felt her son’s hunger creep into her mind. “I’ll take him to eat something.”

Din brought a hand up to the back of her head and pressed his mouth to hers, and she couldn’t help but sigh into the kiss. He held her there for several moments before pulling away. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I need a snack, too. You want anything?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

She gathered their son in her arms, picked Din’s cloak up from the corner, threw it over her shoulder, and ducked through the curtain separating their room from the galley. She didn’t bother with the lights even when past the curtain; what little of the blue and white ripple of hyperspace that could filter past the flight deck door set a nice mood, and neither mother nor son needed much in the way of illumination anyway.

Frog or yogurt, huh?

Rayne chose the latter, scooped some into a bowl that they could share, and holding the baby on a hip with one hand and carrying their snack in the other, padded barefoot onto the flight deck. She settled into the pilot’s chair, wrapping Din’s cloak around them both to ward off the chill, and let Yadi get to work levitating his own spoon from the bowl to his mouth as hyperspace flowed around them.

They ate in companionable silence, snuggling in the worn cloak that smelled like Din, like wool and leather and beskar and sweat. They eased back into the reunification of their minds, both realizing what they had come to share, understanding that they hadn’t been aware of it until their separation. Yadi pressed closer to his mother even as he continued to eat and gaze out the windscreen, and his mother wrapped her mind a little tighter around his, warm and welcoming.

Rayne felt the question from his mind, not so much in the specific word, but very much in tone. _Why?_

She sat with it for a while, rubbing her thumb along his back so that he knew she wasn’t ignoring him in her silence, but putting her answer together. _The same reason you and Din-buir have been moving around for so long. Someone wants to steal your gift. We’re not sure what he wants to do with it, but we’re pretty sure it’s not good. He took us by surprise. I’m sorry it happened. We’re going to stop him soon. We’re going to make sure he won’t bother us again, and then we’ll be free._

Yadier’s mind brightened, even if his outward expression remained sleepy as he continued to float spoonfuls of yogurt into his mouth. _How?_

That, kiddo, was an excellent question. _Not sure yet, ad’ika. But you’ll know when we figure it out_.

 _Wanna help_.

 _I know_. She patted his back. _You might just get your chance_.

* * *

The sun beat down on him.

No armor. No helmet.

He had just run a wooden spear through a giant.

But it wasn’t enough.

Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

He stalked in circles around the giant, screaming. A language he didn’t understand. A rage borne of insufferable loss and injustice boiling through him. This giant was the cause of it, and the death he had just sentenced him to with a poisoned spear through the heart simply wasn’t enough.

He wanted more.

Oh, god, he wanted so much more.

And so he continued in circles, screaming out his rage for all to hear.

His circles drew too close and the giant caught him by the ankle and brought him to the ground. He got back up but it was too late. The giant had him by the neck with one hand and put the other fist through his face.

His teeth exploded out of his mouth in a spray of blood onto the stones.

The giant threw him back to the ground and pinned him down. Pinned his head to the stones and brought his thumbs to his eyes, pressing in and gouging them out-

Din sat up in the dark, screaming.

Rayne pushed herself out of the way, screaming.

Din brought his hands to his face, panicked in the dark, unable to see anything, making sure his eyeballs were still in their sockets, his teeth still in his jaws, his skull still intact.

Rayne sensed his motions, forced her breathing back to normal, hearing his panting breaths. “Hey…” she reached out, warning him of her approach. “Hey… you’re ok. It was just a nightmare.” She put a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm.

He did not flinch away.

“Ffffffuck,” was all he could say.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“Where’s Yadier?”

“He’s…” She reached out. “He went back out to his pod on the flight deck.”

Din fell back to the mattress with a grunt, bringing his hands to his face. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” Rayne lay back down with him, draped an arm over his chest, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, thinking it best to stay away from his face for the time being. “Wanna hear something crazy?”

“I dunno…”

“I had the same dream.”

“What?”

“Killing the giant with the spear. Getting pulled down. Teeth knocked out. The… eye… thing.”

“Fuck,” Din breathed out. “Is having other people’s nightmares a thing for you?”

“Not till just now.”

“Did you just… _see_ it, or…”

“I felt as much as I saw.”

He let out a sharp exhale. His mind was spinning. His heart was pounding. He’d not quite gotten used to the idea that his emotions were no longer his own with Rayne in close quarters, especially in the dark, when the helmet was off. Now he couldn’t even keep his nightmares to himself.

Well, if his mind insisted on spilling itself into hers, he might as well go all in.

He rolled to his side, pulled Rayne’s knee over his hip, and pressed his forehead to hers. Waiting. Breathing. She slid her hand up to the back of his head, held him in, threaded her fingers through his hair, and then brought her lips to his.

Everyone was on-board.

Rayne focused on the man before her now, once again reminded of his violence. The hands that had immolated and decapitated a Stormtrooper were the same hands that had applied bacta patches to her skin later on, were the same hands that, at this moment, roamed her body, formed around what few curves she had with a gentle firmness. He was both violent and kind. Both deadly and tender. Even more… he was _vulnerable_ , despite his impenetrable physical defenses. That these things were not mutually exclusive drove her mad with the desire to understand him, to pull him apart so she could best determine how his pieces were supposed to fit back together again, to recognize that some of his bits were damaged beyond repair, and his other parts would have to re-mold to salvage everything else, to make him whole again.

She was a Sentinel to her core. The instinct to fix broken things coursed along with the blood in her veins. Din Djarin, like the ship he owned, was broken in many ways, beaten and abused for decades, and would never return to full function. But, again, like the ship he owned, he was well-built, powerful, and had enough for her to work with. She had a good sense for what could be fixed and what couldn’t. A sense for what was within her abilities to keep them both running. They were both long-term projects, would both require constant care, and would both continue to run well enough if they got it.

For his part, Din’s mind wandered. Which, really, was the point of this moment, so long as it wandered away from what woke him up. His hands wandered over muscle and bone, and his mind wandered back to how fluid Rayne had been in the corridor full of Stormtroopers, in the face of a barrage of oncoming blaster fire. All of her clumsiness dropped away. Nothing but pure Force and strength and grace remained. Not a single shot had gotten by her precognition. The way she had allowed him to read her movements, the perfect screen for him to get his own shots through. The merciless, deadly team they made together. A melding of opposing fighting styles combined to form a whole that was greater than the sum of its parts. With some work, they would complement each other perfectly.

Once again, the notion that the Jedi and the Mandalorians were meant to be united bloomed in his mind.

It could work. What had happened aboard Gideon’s ship proved it.

He focused once more on the Jedi before him. _His_ Jedi. Proud to be _her_ Mandalorian. Once again, they consummated the unification of their people. Oh, he wanted nothing more in this moment than to consummate it over and over, whatever it took to move forward, to leave the horror and pogroms and destruction behind, and to revive his people and hers, and he lost himself in the rush of it all.

* * *

She listened to him breathe in the dark when they finally pulled apart, draws lengthening as they both relaxed.

She would never get tired of the sound of him breathing without the helmet.

As had become her habit, she slid her hand up his throat to trace the planes and curves of his face. She caught herself at the line of stubble at his jaw when his breath paused, belatedly remembering the nightmare that had led to all this. “May I?” she asked, voice soft in the dark.

He swallowed and relaxed. “Yes.” He was on his back, but he turned his face towards her to give her better access.

She traced a different pattern every time, but he understood the point. You didn’t look at a familiar person to figure out what they looked like. You looked at them because you wanted to see them. He couldn’t let her look. But he would let her see as much as possible.

She ran the back of her knuckles along his jaw. “Getting shaggy.”

“Mm. I’ll shave before we land.”

“How’s your hand?”

“It’s fine.” He’d taken the bacta patch off of it before falling asleep and the burn had healed over completely.

“How much fuel did you empty into that guy’s helmet?”

Oh, here we go. “The whole thing.”

“Was that smart?”

“No.” He turned his face away, anger tingeing his voice.

She slid her hand down to his ribs, pulling in as she placed a kiss on his shoulder. “It’s ok to be angry about what he did. I understand that. Just… try not to get carried away with that kind of thing. You don’t know how many other people you’re gonna have to roast in one day.”

He huffed through a smile, admitting to himself that she was right about that one. He reached for her hand, pressed his lips to it, then placed it back against his jaw. “Duly noted.” He turned into her palm. “You’re ok with the severed head?”

This time she huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “I guess if we’re discussing efficient means of sending a message, sure. And I get that… I get that you were… communicating, there.”

“But…”

She took a breath. “One thing the Jedi got right was that if you’re going to kill someone, kill them in cold blood. Don’t let it get too hot. Rage kills are messy. They backfire. I think that’s what your nightmare is about.”

“It’s a warning.”

“Yes.”

He considered it for a moment. The argument was perfectly valid, but it sat oddly on his shoulders. “So when someone beats the shit out of me you’ll kill them with a cool head?”

Another deep breath. “Cool enough to not make a mess of it, yes.”

“And when they do it to Yadier?”

He took some satisfaction in the length of the pause that followed.

“I… may have less success with that. But I’ll try. Just enough to not fuck it up.”

* * *

The rest of the trip to Nevarro was spent mostly in the dark. Yadier alternated between his pod on the flight deck and with his parents, coming and going as he pleased. Din was surprised that the baby chose to spend as much time on his own as he did. Rayne had a hunch that the flight deck offered better access to the Force, particularly while at hyperspeed. It was no coincidence that the hyperspace lanes followed the veins of the Force, links between worlds used to hold and bind the galaxy together. The flight deck’s transparisteel canopy was less opaque to it than the rest of the ship’s hull, and Rayne suspected that Yadier used the opportunity to soak it all up. Having his parents spending more time up on the same deck made it easier for him to get back and forth, so returning to it after checking in with them became his habit. He was growing more secure. And in that security, was gaining the courage to explore.

Rayne mostly slept, still wiped out from the interrogation and bacta-phrine shot.

Din circulated, depending on what the other two were doing. Yadier usually seemed to crawl into bed with them just as Rayne was drifting off, so Din would take the opportunity to rest with them. On the occasions that his enemy sorcerer son was asleep on the flight deck and his Jedi was asleep in their room, he would drift down to the hold, sit at the table, and continue to read the Mandalorian history files that Reesha had given him.

The material within was… sobering.

The Siege was, of course, more complex than the slaughter of Mandalorians by the Republic that Gideon had implied. It was as much Mandalorian versus Mandalorian as it was Death Watch versus the last vestiges of the Republic as it mutated into the Empire. Hell, Death Watch itself was split through the middle, and Din hadn’t quite yet figured out which side he came down on.

If either.

It was all very confusing.

It was hard not knowing quite which group of people he wanted to kill.

He could only take it in small doses.

So when reading got to be too much, he blew off the steam with the drills that had kept him company for all the years of solitude he had spent on the Razor Crest. Hauling himself up on the pull-up bar. Crunches. Burpees. Whatever it took to wear himself out. Then he would stretch, shower it all off, and head back up the ladder.

If he found Rayne awake and on her own, he would go along with whatever she was up for. They both seemed unusually… handsy in these hours. He chalked it up to the recent Imperial entanglement and had no complaints. He allowed himself to appreciate her desire for close contact, mostly without any particular goal, mostly just necking in the dark. He supposed it made sense. They’d gotten straight down to business after knowing each other for only a few days, had been at it for a month and change, but had been unable to do any proper kissing until recently. Having the opportunity to take the time to just… take things easy… was nice.

It did, of course, sometimes lead to more, and that was nice too.

And so the clan of Rollins-Djarin recharged their batteries.

* * *

Din and Rayne strolled from the Razor Crest through the gate to Nevarro City.

Yadier let out a low groan and pushed himself all the way to the back of his pod, ears flat against his shoulders.

This was not his favorite place.

“I know, buddy,” Rayne dropped a hand into the pod to let him take her finger for a moment, recalling all that Din had told her about what happened here. “We won’t stay long.”

She looked over the pod to Din, noticing the same swagger he always took on for any walk longer than a few meters, feeling his eyes scan the crowd without turning his head. He seemed… tense, but ok, all things considered. No barely-contained rage. No endless repetitions of _dar’manda_ pounding through his head.

They stepped through the entrance of the cantina to see Cara slam a man’s face into the bar. They paused to let her finish her business as she got down into the guy’s face for a conversation.

“Oh my god,” Rayne breathed. “She’s magnificent.”

Something about her tone made Din look at her askance. “Should I be jealous?”

“She could snap me in half if I wasn’t Force-sensitive.” She swallowed. “She might still be able to snap me in half.”

“Should I be jealous?” he repeated.

She smiled and winked. “Maybe.”

He smiled to himself as he led her down the rest of the steps.

It was the wise Mandalorian man who surrounded himself with women who could kick his ass.

Releasing the last of her troublemakers for the day, Cara turned to greet them with a smile. “Hey kiddo,” she ducked and waved into the pod. “Mando.” Rayne watched as they clasped hands soldier-style. “You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

Din tiled his head. “Rayne’s good at putting things back together.”

Rayne raised her hand for the same clasp and received it, returning Cara’s unsurprisingly firm grip. “I’ve heard good things.”

Cara lifted an eyebrow. “They’re all lies. I like your ink, though.”

Din had advised Rayne to wear a sleeveless shirt to show off the Rebel Starbird on her shoulder, and seeing a smaller version of it on Cara’s cheek, she understood why. She lifted her chin to indicate her acknowledgement of it. “X-wing mechanic on a carrier,” she said, answering the unasked question. “Mando said you were a shock trooper.”

“I was.”

“Karga’s not in today?” Din asked.

“He’s expanded his entrepreneurial activities since the Imps left,” Cara said. “He’ll be around this afternoon if you want to see him.”

“Not particularly. Hear anything from the covert?”

Cara shook her head.

Din dipped his chin. “I’ll go check in. I shouldn’t be long.”

The glance that he shared with Rayne was a short one, but Cara did not miss it.

The Mandalorian left, leaving the baby and two war veterans to settle into a booth in the back corner. Cara sat across from Rayne and fixed her with a look. “So. You and Mando, huh?”

“Yep.” Rayne kept her tone and expression mild, unsure of the lay of the land, remembering Cara’s attempt to aid Din as transmitted to her by Yadier, remembering Din’s keen sense of rejection when mentioning how Cara had said she would stay here. She nodded her thanks to the server as their drinks, straight whiskey for both, were placed on the table.

“See the goods yet?”

Rayne shrugged. “From the neck down.”

Cara let out an approving snort. “He’s out of his goddamn mind. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Cara’s eyes narrowed. This Rayne character sure didn’t _look_ like much. She was easily a few inches shorter and a few years older than Cara. What she had seemed solid enough, but she only had a medium build, at best. Still, looks could be deceiving, and Mando had mentioned her abilities at both kicking ass and managing the baby. Mando’s judgment wasn’t always the best, though. “What makes you think you can handle what he dishes out?”

Rayne was half-way through a sip of her drink. “Oh…” she paused, considering, took a quick look around to make sure they had no one’s attention, then dropped her hand from the glass. The glass itself remained in the air, hovering, perfectly still, until Rayne lowered it back to the table. “Just a hunch.”

“Shit…” Cara whispered. “Oh, shit.” She took a slow pull from her own drink. “You’re just like the kid.”

Rayne laughed at that one. “No.” She dropped a hand down to the pod, sitting on the seat below the table, to run a finger along one of the baby’s ears. “He’s a lot more powerful than I am. But we are of the same kind.” She brought her hand back up to the table, considering the guarded anxiety radiating from the woman before her. “Look… a lot has changed for us over the last month and a half. Mando’s not always great about saying everything that needs to be said, and I’m not always great about picking up on social cues. If I’ve stepped on any toes here, I’m sorry…”

Now it was Cara’s turn to laugh. “No, it’s not like that. It’s…” She wasn’t quite sure how to say it without sounding like an asshole.

Rayne took a guess. “He has a tendency to get in over his head and you want to make sure I can handle myself when it happens.”

Cara let out a sigh of relief. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“That’s fair,” Rayne said. “And the answer is yes. I can.”

At that moment, a large silver bearing floated up from Yadier’s pod in Cara’s direction, and she snapped it out of the air before it cleared the top of the table and anyone could see it. “What’s this?”

Rayne smiled. “A peace offering.” She brought a hand to her own throat. “He’s sorry about what happened last time. He didn’t understand.”

Cara let out a sigh, taking her own turn to dip her hand down to the pod and give the baby a playful boop on the nose. “He saved my life. He saved all of our lives. We’re square.”

By the time Din returned twenty minutes later, the war vets were well into their third round, debating the merits of ground assault vs. blowing shit up from the air with an X-wing. They stopped mid-conversation as he stood at the head of the table, a meter-and-a-half length of steel rod in his hand.

“Time to go?” Rayne asked.

“Yes.”

The women downed their drinks, Rayne paid up, Cara ducked into the back office to retrieve and enormous gun and a small bag, and they left.

Rayne noticed that Din’s swagger was not nearly so pronounced on the way out as it was on the way in. She waited until they were through the gate and the crowd had thinned out significantly before voicing her question. “What was up at the covert?”

“Nothing,” Din said. “Everything is cleared out. No one was there. All I found was this.” He hefted the rod in his left hand.

“Is that made out of what I think it is?” Rayne asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we can use it to spar with my lightsaber. You need the practice.”

He gave a brief nod.

* * *

Back into hyperspace again. Their course set to a blank space on the map until they could figure things out.

Cara took a look around the Razor Crest. Not a whole lot had changed, aside from the lack of blurrgs in the hold and the fact that what used to be Mando’s bunk was now full of gear. Either Rayne’s sense of gunship decorum matched Mando’s, or if it was different, she didn’t see fit to force change on him.

For some reason, that made Cara happy. It shouldn’t have been surprising, really. Rayne was as much retired military as Cara was, even if in the more official “honorable discharge” capacity, as opposed to “AWOL.” The Crest was originally a military ship, and Mando had mostly kept it as such. Cargo nets along the interior of the hull, gear stowed so it was out of the way but easily at-hand, everything in its place, personal effects out of sight, if they existed at all.

It didn’t _look_ like a home to a family, but this was no ordinary family.

This was a family on the run. Holding its breath. Not quite sure about what was holding it together.

But a family nonetheless.

Cara watched as Mando and Rayne moved about the ship, able to keep out of each other’s way even in the cramped spaces, or at the very least, being more than comfortable in each other’s space. Not in an outwardly affectionate way, but with an easy tolerance afforded to each other that would not be afforded to others.

Once all the gear was stowed and Din dropped the ship out of hyperspace to drift, he joined Rayne and Cara at the table. Yadier reached for him upon arrival with a plaintive “ _buir_ ,” so he held his arms out as Rayne handed the baby over. Snuggled to his satisfaction, Cara watched as Yadi slid the Mythosaur pendant into his mouth.

The pendant Mando had pressed into her hands with his dying breaths. The pendant she had tied around the child herself.

“So. We need a plan,” Din said.

“Back up,” Cara said. “I want to know how Gideon caught up to you over Takodana. Does he have fobs on you? Is he tracking the Razor Crest?”

Rayne shook her head. “I built scramblers for Din, Yadi, and the ship, and-”

“Wait,” Cara interrupted. “You can do that? Jam a fob?”

“ _I_ can do that, yeah.” Rayne brushed it off like it wasn’t important. “I checked the Crest over when we landed on Nevarro. It’s clean. I think Gideon just put the pieces together. I abandoned a profitable business at the same time Din was sighted on the planet. I erased my shop records of Din and the Crest before we left, but every place else he’s taken it to would’ve had it on their books. I have a recorded history of wins at Methuselah. He probably took a guess about what I was when he figured out I got something the size of the Crest through the asteroid belt there. He seemed hung up about that. God… if the Jawas were still there when he showed up and he managed to get anything out of them…” She paused for a moment, horrified at the thought, then pressed forward. “He probably guessed I’d go to ground after that, which meant Coruscant and Takodana.” She paused again, thinking back to her interrogation, wishing she’d done more to probe Gideon while she’d had the chance. She’d just been so wrecked from getting gassed, bashed in the face, and tortured that it hadn’t occurred to her. Still… “I didn’t get the sense that he knew exactly where we’d be. He seemed really smug with himself that he’d managed to find us.”

“What kind of state did you leave his ship in?”

“We blew up the lab,” Din said. “Disabled the guns and tractor beam long enough to get away, but they’ve probably fixed that by now. Hid charges on the reactor but didn’t detonate them. Rayne wanted to wait for a more opportune time.”

Cara smiled. “You might just get the chance, assuming they didn’t find the charges.”

Din tilted his head. “What’ve you got?”

“I might have caught a former Stormtrooper who tried passing himself off as a Guild hunter.” Din snorted. It was the closest Cara had ever heard him come to a laugh. “I know, right? Anyway, I might have almost crushed his skull before he spilled a few beans. Turns out Gideon is based on Ilum.”

“ _What?_ ” Rayne burst out. Din twitched, knowing he recognized the name, but not quite remembering why.

“You’re familiar with it?” Cara asked.

“It’s where we… where the Jedi would go as Younglings to find our kyber crystals. It was a holy place for us. Then the Empire mined the shit out of it to create the Death Stars. You can see the trench they dug out of it from orbit. Like, _distant_ orbit. They _desecrated_ it.”

Din slid his foot next to Rayne’s. For him to hear her use words like _holy_ and _desecrated_ , when she had otherwise largely tossed the spiritual aspects of the religion she was raised with out the window decades ago, was nothing sort of surreal.

Cara, whose home world had been desecrated to the point of destruction by the very weapon built out of Ilum, took Rayne’s reaction more in stride. “Yeah. Gideon’s there for the kyber. The Vibre ship he picked you guys up with is just his daily driver. He has a Star Destroyer for when he needs to move a lot of resources around.”

Din felt his gut tie itself into a knot. Gideon’s knowledge of Mandalorian records, possession of the Darksaber, obsession with Yadier’s Force abilities, collection of Force-sensitive DNA, Force resistance training, and now this business with Jedi holy ground… Din knew he was on to something with the unification of the Mandalorian and Jedi people. Gideon, though… Gideon was on to something with the unification of Mandalorian and Jedi weaponry.

This was bad.

This was _really_ bad.

“Cara, did you notice the shape Gideon’s troopers were in, compared to other Imperial remnants?” he asked.

“Yeah. Armor was kept up well. Tight formations. Sheer volume. To say nothing of the E-web and the TIE fighter, and now this whole Star Destroyer. He has a lot of resources.”

“That Vibre was in good shape, too,” Rayne said. “Gideon is more than just a _remnant_. He’s a _resurgence_.”

Din hated to say what he said next. “Is this big enough to bring in the New Republic?”

“Prrrobably,” Cara said.

“Will your chain code hold up with them now?”

“Prrrobably.”

Rayne frowned. “Gideon would run. He doesn’t want a fair fight. He only shows up when he thinks he can crush his opponent outright. He’ll duck out if we show up with a carrier full of X-wings. And then he’ll just come after us again when we’re alone.”

Din slumped back with a sigh that acknowledged the truth to her words. “We can’t just bait him, then. We have to look compromised.”

Cara cracked a smile that nearly split her face in half. “That’s the best kind of bait. Here’s an idea…”

* * *

They shared. They plotted. They revealed themselves. They revised accordingly.

It was risky.

God, it was so risky.

They could all die horrible deaths.

Or they could finally be free.

* * *

When the plan was fully hatched, Din said, “If something happens to me, the armor belongs to Yadier. Helmet. Everything.”

Rayne gave a slow nod, coming to the realization that if she was to see his face in the near future, he would have to die first. It hurt too much to think about, so she set it aside for the time being. “If we manage to get the Darksaber?”

“Yadier’s.”

“Zavin has access to my account,” Rayne continued in the same vein. “He already has instructions to give you whatever you need for Yadier. Just let him know.”

“And if you both manage to bite it?” Cara asked.

Rayne and Din looked at each other, coming to a silent agreement.

“I’ll show you were we hid the coordinates Maz gave us,” Rayne said. “Take Yadier there first. If that doesn’t work out, take him back to Coruscant. Zavin and Reesha will take him and have the resources to keep looking for his people. They would welcome your help as well, if you’d be interested.”

“Good plan,” Cara said.

“And if you bite it?” Din asked.

Cara shrugged. “Tell Karga he’ll need a new enforcer.”

That settled, Din faced Rayne, catching her attention. “A moment on the flight deck, please?”

“Sure.”

He nodded in Cara’s direction to excuse their absence, and she raised her glass in dismissal.

Rayne leaned back on the console as Din slid the door closed behind him, then placed a snoozing Yadier in his pod on the starboard jump seat. “What’s up?” she asked.

He took a deep breath, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bulkhead, attempting to keep as much distance between them as possible. “We’re making end-of-life arrangements, here.”

“Seems that way, yeah.”

“Then you should know that you don’t know me like you think you do.” His tone was blunt. Hard.

Ah, here he was. She was wondering if he would show up again. The little boy who rejected the six families who tried to take him in. He’d popped up briefly as the man who had drawn his blaster against her as she lay cornered in the bunk. He’d popped up again as the man who led her along the lakeshore to protest his sudden acquiescence to friendship. Now here he was again, once more backing her into a corner in an effort to push her away, menacing and surly, brought about by a threat to some definition of himself flipping that switch in his brain that turned him from an almost-reasonable person into an asshole. She lifted an eyebrow. “What else do I need to know?”

“If it comes between me and Yadier, choose him.”

“Of course.” Any parent would.

“If it comes between me and you, choose you.”

“This feels like a confession,” Rayne said.

“Because it is.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Another sigh, a dip of the chin, but no words.

“Anything worse than selling a baby to Imps?” Might as well set the bar high to start with.

“I… don’t know actually. There’s… days were I don’t remember how I got from Point A to Point B, but there’d be a lot of bodies between them. Not all of them deserved it. Collateral damage. I can’t tell you if I put them there or not.”

Blackouts apparently _were_ a thing for him, then. Another thing she’d asked him about point-blank that he’d evaded. Between this and the head injury, she actually had the beginnings of a list. “But chances are pretty good that you did.”

“Yes. _And I didn’t care_.”

“Are you asking for my forgiveness?”

“No. But you should know who I really am.”

“Are you still that person?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you want to be a better person?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does collateral damage bother you now?”

He thought of the covert. It had never exactly _thrived_ , but it had once been full of life. Then it was full of empty armor. Today it was just… empty. Because of what he had done. “Yes.”

Rayne shrugged. “In a civilized world, I’d be in prison a few times over. We don’t live in a civilized world. We could stand here all night and drag truth out of each other. We both have our dark places. The only thing we can really do is learn from them and move forward. That work for you?”

It sounded lame, but what else was there? “It’ll have to.”

Unable to pick a fight with Rayne, he went back down to the hold to try his hand with Cara.

She had disassembled the repeater gun and was cleaning it when he walked through to the weapons locker. The gun she had used against their previous encounter with the Imps. The gun that was Mando’s to begin with. He hadn’t asked for it back, had left it with her on purpose, a meager payment for all she had done for him and his son. “Everything good up there?” she asked.

“Yes.” He opened the locker and stared inside for a moment, looking for something to polish, looking for something to take the edge off of the anxiety running through him.

Cara seemed to sense it, seemed to understand that the pressure valve needed to be released. She was more than happy to poke around at it. “You two seem close. What’s it been? A couple of months?”

“Almost, yeah.”

“Your son likes her.” She had not forgotten the Armorer’s clan designations.

“He does.” He picked up a small blaster, turning it over in his hands. “ _Our_ son,” he corrected. “She adopted him.”

“Wow. That was fast.”

He put the blaster back in its place and turned to face her. “He wanted her to be his mother.”

“You agree with his choice?”

“Yes.”

“So you keep the helmet on when you bone her, or what?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into her space. “You had your chance. You knew I was going to ask you to come with me and you cut me off before I could do it.” And he realized that was it. What had _really_ been bothering him since they picked her up. “Why did you stay on Nevarro?”

She rounded on him, eyes blazing. “You really haven’t figured it out?”

“Apparently not.”

She pointed a finger and drilled it into the center of his chestplate, pushing him back a step. “I saw you when you were almost dead. I still have nightmares of your blood all over my hands. You wanna know what I saw?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

Her frown deepened as she sunk her fingers into the cowl at his throat and twisted the material into her fist. “I saw a man who thought having a warrior’s death was more important than that little boy having a father.” Her voice shook with rage. “I saw a man choose his religion over that little boy for the second time. You did it when you sold him for the beskar, and you did it again when you abandoned him for your Creed. I have a lot of fights in me, Mando, but I can’t fight that kind of insanity. You are out of your damned mind, and I _will not_ watch you let yourself die ever again.”

Din stood before her, helpless against the truth of her words. “I was wrong.”

Her grip on him loosened in surprise, then tightened again. That was too easy. “What?”

“You’re right. My priorities were wrong.”

Her grip and expression loosened once more, but just a little. “What happened?”

“Turns out the Mandalorians who rescued me were the same ones who staged the attack on my village in the first place. Droids killed my parents. But they were programmed by the Mandalorians to do it.”

She let go of him entirely, her face a mix of shock and sorrow, instantly recognizing the implications. “I’m… god… I’m sorry.” He had nearly thrown his life away for a Creed that had destroyed it in the first place. “You’re still serious about the helmet?”

“I’ve been… re-evaluating.” It was only half of a lie. The full truth was that, after a lifetime of hiding, after discovering what he really was, he was too much of a coward to take it off.

“Does this mean I get to take it off if necessary?”

“If it’s necessary to save my life, yes. Try it otherwise, and I’ll kill you.”

“You suddenly sound so reasonable.”

He shrugged, turning back to the locker, waiting a beat before responding. “Helmet comes off in the dark. When I bone her.”

Cara snorted a laugh. “That was too much information.”

“ _You asked_.”

She shook her head, returning to the gun spread out on the table. “You need to learn about rhetorical questions, Mando.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” His tone was light. He allowed himself another few moments before he continued. “You can call me by my real name. When we’re not… out.”

That gave her pause. She had found herself startled when Rayne spoke it earlier. The word had come out of Mando’s companion so easily that it was obvious that she was used to saying it. That it came naturally to her. “Is that what you want?”

His back was still turned to her, but that was ok. “Gideon calls me by name every chance he gets. I’d rather hear it more often from my friends than from my enemies.”

“Ok. Then you need to learn about rhetorical questions, Din.” God, that felt weird.

“Just showing you how reasonable I’ve gotten.”

“Oh yeah? And what happens when you get Yadier settled with his people? If I’m reading this right, I’m guessing Rayne will stay with him. You gonna leave her like you left Omera?”

Goddammit, she was worse than Zavin. It wasn’t the same, and she knew it. She was baiting him. Still, he took a measured breath, and when the answer came out of him, he was almost as surprised by it as she was. “I’ll stay if I can.”

* * *

They ducked back to Nevarro for a quick stop at one of the cities closer to the southern polar region to pick up some cold-weather gear. Then they set course for Ilum.

They set Cara up with a bunk in the corner of the hold, and once again, she made herself at home on Din’s ship.

It was a lot quieter this time around, with three blurrgs, an Ugnaught, and a droid swapped out for a Force-sensitive war veteran. Quiet enough that as the veterans started in on the bottle of whiskey stashed in the galley, they could hear Din as he read to Yadier up on the flight deck until the baby fell asleep, then in the fresher as he showered and brushed his teeth. Cara put her whiskey down the wrong pipe when Din wandered back out wearing nothing but his helmet, shorts, and a T-shirt, towel thrown over his shoulder.

His arms and legs were bare.

She had seen his blood before, had it all over her hands, but until now, had never seen so much as a sliver of his skin. His tan from Methuselah was fading, but everything not covered was still a light shade of golden brown.

Finally, full confirmation that he really was just a man under all the armor.

He was leaner than she thought he would be, until she remembered how he was lighter than she expected when she’d dragged him from the battlefield at Nevarro. Without the rest of his armor, the helmet made him look almost bobble-headed; too big for the rest of him. Looking at him now, she couldn’t believe how he’d managed to fight her to a draw back on Sorgan. She should’ve laid him out flat, given his size.

Cara’s eyes caught the beskar casing that hung at his throat, replacing the Mythosaur skull that now belonged to Yadier, the leather string it hung on still wet from the shower. Rayne wore a similar one. Cara didn’t know quite what it meant, but it was obvious that things had moved with a fair amount of speed since she and Din had parted ways.

The way Rayne looked at him like nothing was amiss, like it was normal to see him without being covered in beskar, without a weapon strapped to his hip, without ammunition draped across his chest or wrapped around his leg, once again drove it home; he had opened the door and let the Jedi in.

And Cara realized she had done the exact same thing. She had told Rayne all about where she’d been and how she’d taken it when Alderaan had been destroyed. About how she had joined and then left the Resistance. It had all come so easily. And Rayne had just… _listened_. Had measured out just enough booze for the both of them to strike the right balance between loosening up just enough but not too much. She’d shared enough about herself to keep it going, about her escape from the Jedi temple, about her late husband and subsequent discharge from the Resistance forces. These were not the kinds of conversations Cara had with people she’d known for less than a day. That’s not how she worked.

And yet, here she was.

Din and Rayne turned in for the night.

The Razor Crest was indeed quiet, but the hyperdrive engine had its own ambient hum. Situated as a solid-state slab, it was sandwiched between the upper and lower decks of the ship, and it dissipated any noise that would otherwise conduct between the space behind the galley above and the hold below.

There was, however, the matter of the hole in the floor just behind the flight deck.

And so it was that two small sounds, a short gasp followed by a low groan, sounds that would have meant nothing in isolation but were incriminated by their proximity, gave it all away to Cara’s ear late in the night. 

The stab of jealousy she expected did not come.

She had to admit that her feelings for Din were highly… ambivalent. There was a lot to like about an honorable warrior, but Din’s brand of honor had more twists and turns than she felt safe with navigating. She’d watched him fall for Omera. He’d fallen _hard_. She understood his logic for leaving and she would’ve felt bad about her jab against him earlier had it not been for the fact that he’d not even asked about Omera when he’d come back to Sorgan. Even when Cara had brought her up earlier today, he evaded the issue all together, like she was no longer on his radar. Even if he was reconsidering now, his prioritization of the Creed over his son still left a gaping wound in her heart. And the way he had spoken of him to the Armorer… _you wish me to train this thing_? _You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature_ … His tone had held more ice than she ever could have imagined. _This thing… this creature_ … His absolute detachment in that moment from the little boy he had fought so long and so hard to protect made her skin crawl.

She remembered the pain in his tone when she headed him off, telling him she’d stay on Nevarro. The broken sound of his reply. _You’re staying **here**?_ She knew she’d hurt him, but he’d left her no choice. She could not bear the weight of whatever kind of baggage it was that made him pull the kind of shit he pulled with Omera and Yadier on her own heart.

She would stand by his side. She would fight for his causes. In those actions, she knew she could trust him.

But she would not live with him. She would not love him. Not in that way. Not when he was so obviously prone to abandoning the ones _he_ loved.

She really, really hoped Rayne knew what she was doing.

If Din abandoned Rayne, Cara might just kill him herself.

* * *

Once again, Rayne was unable to sleep.

She reached for Din’s cloak folded in the corner, padded out to the galley, pulled the whiskey back out from its hiding spot along with a glass, and continued on to the flight deck, bathed in the blue and white ripple of hyperspace. Yadier was sound asleep in his pod on the starboard jump seat, so she wrapped the cloak around herself, settled into the port seat, poured out a shot, sat back, and tried to dull her senses.

Din woke up alone, understanding what it meant.

He slipped the helmet on, and went to the galley. Finding the whiskey missing from its place, he grabbed a glass instead, and was unsurprised to find Rayne on the flight deck. She looked up at his arrival but made no sound, a mutual head-tilt enough of a greeting for both of them. He swiveled the pilot seat around so it faced the exit, moved Yadier’s pod to it with the practiced gentleness of a father not wishing to wake his child, poured himself a shot from the bottle placed on the console, and set it by the now-vacated starboard jump seat. He stood there for a moment, naked but for his helmet and shorts, feeling the chill against his skin, and ducked out. He returned a few seconds later with the blanket from their bed and slid the door shut.

Rayne watched as he dimmed the lights on the console and adjusted the transparency of the canopy. When he thought he had it right, he turned back to the outline of her form. “How’s that?”

“Shadows only.”

He lifted the helmet off, placed it on the console, reached out for her hand, and let her guide him to her. He sank to his knees, pulled her knees around his ribs, slid a hand around the back of her head, let her pull him in, and pressed his mouth to hers.

Things could go very, very wrong tomorrow.

Part of him wondered if this would be their last night, wondered if what he had given her earlier was enough, wondered if there was anything he was supposed to say. Her hands came up to once again trace the lines of his face and he had the sudden urge to turn the lights on, show her what he really was, give her the chance to back out and leave him, leave them, go back to her previous life as if the last month and a half hadn’t happened.

 _Run_ , his mind screamed at her. _Run away. Before I get you killed, too_.

“Stop that shit,” she whispered against his cheek. “Am I a part of this family or not?”

“You know you are,” he whispered back, his voice broken.

“Then let me fight for it.”

Something in his chest tightened, threatened to crush him. He was so tired of the swings his brain put him through, one moment wanting nothing more than to shove her away for her own good, the next wanting nothing more than to fall into her for his own selfishness. The things he wanted to feel… the things he wanted to say… too horrifying in their unattainableness, things he did not deserve and dared not to ask for. She had already volunteered her life for him. Wasn’t that enough? Couldn’t he just accept that as being enough?

The first time he’d gone up against Gideon, he’d almost lost his life. The second time, she’d almost lost hers.

What would the third time bring?

He wanted so much to make her promise not to push it too hard tomorrow. To promise that his son would still have a mother tomorrow. He knew he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t promise the same in return; that her son would still have a father. She, as a Jedi, could not make that promise to him. He, as a Mandalorian, could not make that promise to her.

“Do you have any idea…” he whispered. _Any idea what this is doing to me?_

“I do,” she said, and she brought his hands to her face. His thumbs brushed against the tears that streamed from her eyes. She did, because she felt the same.

They both lost it, inasmuch as warriors allow themselves to do so, silent, shuddering sobs, fingers threaded through hair, fearing not of their own deaths, but for the loss of the other, for the possibility of once again orphaning the small, green baby who had become their son.

The tide ebbed, and Din once more became aware of the chill against his skin, the deck hard against his knees. He stood with a grunt, pressed his lips against Rayne’s for one more moment, then stepped to the waiting glass of whiskey and downed it in one go. He poured himself another, then wrapped himself up in the blanket he’d brought out and settled into the starboard jump seat. He watched hyperspace ripple over the canopy of his ship, listened to the hyperdrive hum along, pushing them all through the split between space and time. He thought about what Rayne had said about the hyperspace lanes following the paths of the Force. “What do you see,” he asked her in the dim light, “when you can’t sleep?”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Depends. Usually nothing informative. Lately nothing but Stormtroopers. Waves and waves of Stormtroopers.”

He considered the glass in his hand. Considered the last time he’d gotten himself absolutely shitfaced, just a handful of days ago. Considered how much he’d seen Rayne put away without it seeming to affect her as much as it should have. He realized he had no idea if that ability stemmed from enemy sorcery-enabled liver function, years of alcohol abuse, or both. He recalled Zavin’s comment about her previous poor habits following Hayes’s death. He wondered if the Force buffered her from it, drove her to it, or both. “Does drinking help?”

“A little.”

About as self-aware of an answer as he could expect, at the moment.

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, the weight of exhaustion pulling the lids down over his eyes. When he could no longer ignore the call of the bed behind him, he hauled himself out of his seat, collected the bottle and glasses, took them to the galley, then came back out to the flight deck. “I have an idea,” he said as he picked his helmet up off of the console, voice quiet. Instead of putting it on, he leaned back against the console, facing Rayne, and she watched his silhouette as he flipped through the configurations of the latches on its side. “Visor’s blacked out,” he said, handing it to her.

“What?” She reached out to accept the helmet, unsure of what she was supposed to do with it.

“Beskar is Force-opaque at long-range. Might help you sleep.”

She held the helmet in her hands, the object of her discomfort since they had met, helmets of similar purpose being the object of her nightmares since the age of ten. “You want me to put your helmet on.”

“Only if you want to try it. Just to sleep in. See if it keeps the Stormtroopers out of your head.”

She took a breath, closed her eyes, and slipped it over her head.

Complete darkness, as he had warned with the blacked out visor.

Complete blindness, as would be expected of the beskar.

She could not sense Din or Yadier, despite the fact that they were right there in front of her.

For the first time in her life, she was cut off from the Force. Isolated. Alone in her own head. The ambient hum of the galaxy’s chatter suddenly absent from her mind. Blind. Deaf. Numb. Caught in the free-fall zero G of space.

“Hey.” Din’s voice brought her back. “You ok?”

She turned to where she thought he was, and he was half-amused at, for the first time ever, how far off she was. “It’s terrible in here.”

The sound of her voice through the modulator shocked both of them, drawing a huff of a laugh from Din. “It takes some getting used to.”

She took a moment to try to settle into it, reminding herself that he’d spent the vast majority of his life locked in this thing, reminding herself that her face was, at this very moment, where his had been for so long. “Has anyone else worn this thing?”

“No.”

This space had been his and his alone for more than thirty years, and now he was sharing it with her.

Trying to help her.

“Ok.”

“Come back to bed?” he asked.

“Ok.”

He returned the console lights and canopy transparency to their previous settings, turned the pilot chair so Yadier was facing forward, gathered the blanket, and guided Rayne back to their room. Guided her through her darkness as she had guided him through his first night without the helmet on Coruscant. He helped her get settled, showed her how to adjust the pillow so it worked with the helmet instead of against it, and then pressed his forehead against hers, appreciating the cold steel against his skin, appreciating the role reversal, appreciating her willingness to try.

She lay still for ten minutes, alone in her own head, cut off from the rest of the galaxy, her head trapped in a can, until she could stand it no longer. She pulled it off. “I can’t,” she said, gasping for air. “I can’t…”

“Okay…” he said, relieving her of it and placing it back next to his side of the bed. “Too much?”

“Too much of nothing,” she said as she allowed him to pull her back against him, as she pressed into him as he spooned around her. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does,” he whispered, holding her as her trembling subsided. “I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

“It was worth a shot,” she said, taking his hand and pressing his knuckles to her lips. “Thank you for trying.”

Sleep eventually claimed them.

Din was right about one thing, though.

It would be their last night in this bed for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh… once again, not quite the chapter I thought would get posted, but it seemed like the characters needed to sort a few things out before getting back to Gideon.


	14. The Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mandalorian, a Jedi, a Rebel, and a baby take on an Imperial Moff.
> 
> Things go well, until they don’t.

_See these eyes so red  
Red like jungle burning bright  
Those who feel me near  
Pull the blinds and change their minds...  
And I've been putting out the fire with gasoline_

David Bowie, [Putting out Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bM5mTEavepU)

* * *

Two humans, a tiny baby alien, and a large plush frog lay curled together on the upper deck of a gunship slipping toward Ilum.

The Jedi woke up to the buzz of her wristband, the only signal of morning in the veins of hyperspace. She woke up in the arms of her Mandalorian, his stubble pressed against the back of her neck, her feet pressed against his shins. Their son lay snug in her hold, his back pressed to her chest, head tucked under her chin, frog clutched in his grasp.

They were warm. They were together. They were comfortable.

The Jedi closed her eyes.

She never wanted to leave this.

She never meant for it to get this deep.

Getting this child, this tiny version of the green, powerful ghost from her past to safety became her top priority the moment the Mandalorian handed him to her with a gentle trust all those weeks ago. The reality that this Mandalorian was a religious fundamentalist raised by a terrorist group presented a challenge, though not an insurmountable one. Despite his upbringing in violence and bloodshed, he had somehow managed to maintain an inner core of gentleness, had somehow managed to root his footing in a kind of honor, and that was enough to work with.

Her plan had been simple: get him to trust her enough to at least take her advice on where to go for help. If she got particularly lucky, get him to allow her to hitch a ride so she could see it through herself.

She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been, before. She hadn’t realized how lonely _he’d_ been, before. She hadn’t anticipated the ease with which they would fill the gaps in each other’s lives. She hadn’t anticipated becoming the child’s mother. She hadn’t anticipated becoming part of their family. She hadn’t anticipated guiding the Mandalorian through an existential crisis as the foundation of his Creed disintegrated beneath him. She hadn’t anticipated the ease with which the Mandalorian would understand and accept her darker moments. She hadn’t anticipated her desire to keep all of it, to keep them, and she had not anticipated the Mandalorian’s fear of losing her.

Naturally, this all came to a head just before taking on an Imperial Moff who wanted them all very much dead.

The baby squirmed, the full night of sleep and the empty belly combining to drive him awake. He let go of his frog and turned over, clutching his mother’s shirt and trembling. _Afraid_.

She patted his back. _Me too, buddy. Me too. We have to be brave today. Can you be brave with us, verd’ika? Can you be a warrior today?_

The request was a terrible one. To ask a child, a _toddler_ , to stand with his parents in battle. But his parents were not ordinary people, and their son was not an ordinary child. Not only had he asked to help, fully knowing what he was getting into, but he was their best shot at success. He was the best answer to his own freedom.

And so it was with this understanding that he answered with the memory of his father unleashing fire upon a Stormtrooper with one arm while holding him in a protective embrace with the other, the memory of holding back a wall of fire on his own, and the memory of lifting the ship that had been his home for close to a year with the help of his mother. _I will be strong. I will be brave. For my buire_.

The Mandalorian stirred, woken by the subtle shifts of his Jedi and his son. He tightened his arms around them, around his family, aware of their anxiety, knowing they saw the oncoming day through the same lens he did. _“B_ _'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur,”_ he breathed. 

_Today is a good day for someone else to die_.

* * *

A human lay sprawled on the lower deck of a gunship slipping toward Ilum.

The shocktrooper rolled over, hearing the soft sounds of the family upstairs waking up.

 _When’s breakfast?_ she wondered.

She had no one and nothing to lose. Just the way she liked it.

* * *

Cara watched as Rayne handed Din her lightsaber and he handed her the beskar rod he had found at the covert. He activated the saber, gave it a perfunctory twirl, and they both took defensive starting positions.

“You’re sure the beskar will block this?” he asked.

“Nope. Take it easy for the first couple swings.”

He nodded, and took an easy strike. Sure enough, the rod held up against the saber, but not without a fair amount of sparks and the distinctive sound of steel-on-something-destructive. They paused to examine the damage. While the rod was not properly tempered, it could give a reasonable estimation of what the Darksaber would do to Din’s armor. Looking at the shallow gash, it was reasonable to assume that it wouldn’t be completely impervious, but it would hold up.

Between Gideon’s Force resistance training and the other things Rayne would have on her plate, she would be unable to control the Moff. Cara would have her hands full with the Stormtroopers. Gideon may or may not have been trained well enough with the saber to deflect Din’s blaster shots with it. Din would have to go against him blade-to-blade. Using the blade Rayne had constructed at the age of eighteen with no supervision beyond an abbreviated introduction. Against the legendary blade constructed by Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian Jedi and once ruler of all Mandalore.

No pressure.

And so, they took what little time they had left to spar in the cramped space of the Razor Crest’s hold.

Sitting on a ladder rung, holding Yadier to keep him out of the way, Cara retracted her earlier assessment of Rayne.

The woman _could_ do the kick-ass-and-take-names thing.

Lacking space and not wanting to chance putting the lightsaber through the hull, Din and Rayne stuck mostly with practice drills, giving Din a chance to figure out how the lightsaber handled differently from a normal sword. Attacking strokes. Attack combinations. Defense positions. Attack-defense combinations. Ramping up the power and speed at a gradual rate such that Rayne was pulling her shots less and less.

Yadier watched, once again fascinated, reminded of when his parents had first sparred at his mother’s hangar, silhouetted against the dying light of the sunset. Now, there was just the indoor lighting of the ship, but the motions were reminiscent. Rayne’s utilitarian movements driven by the brute speed and strength of the Force, Din’s grace and skill driven by quick thinking and improvisation. But this time Rayne instructed Din, reminding him of how the balance of the weapon was different, remarking how the blade wouldn’t stick as much against another blade as it did against the beskar rod.

After just under an hour, they called it good enough, wanting to give Din enough time to rest up before the real thing.

And Rayne had two more tasks.

* * *

Rayne sat in the port jump seat on the flight deck, Din’s helmet once again in her hands.

Din lay in their room behind the galley, waiting. Resting.

She had already deactivated the fob scrambler on Yadier’s Mythosaur pendant. They didn’t know where Gideon was, if he would be at Ilum or not. Rayne remembered Ilum well enough to know that they did not want to stay there any longer than necessary; the planet’s arctic conditions were unkind. Once they arrived, they wanted to send as loud of a beacon as possible to draw Gideon from wherever he may be, and that meant putting Yadier and Din back on the radar.

She looked at the helmet. This stupid fucking thing that Din continued to lock himself into despite the fact that he’d already determined that his soul was forfeit. This barrier he continued to shackle himself to because he thought he deserved to be cut off. This mask that had crowded out so much of his identity that he didn’t know what he was without it. Calling himself a coward for being unable to get past it.

She hadn’t brought it up with him. They hadn’t had the time and she hadn’t had the words, but his mind had screamed it all to her just the same. She didn’t want to be selfish about it. Didn’t want to break his trust. Of course she wanted to see him. She knew by now the general shape of him, but she was curious about how it all came together. How did the strong jaw match up with the round face? What was up with the two bare patches in the stubble? How had the big brown eyes from his childhood photograph changed and matured? Were his smiles as rare as she guessed? Was his hair as big of a mess as it felt? Did he close his eyes when he kissed her or keep them open? Did he make the same stupid face that everyone else made when release claimed him, or had the Mandalorians trained him into stoicism for that, too?

She could die today without knowing these things. He could die today and she would learn a few of them. Or they could both live, and she would continue to wonder.

She turned the helmet over and pulled the padding away from the back by the louvers. The fob scrambler was still there, wired into the helmet’s power supply, the small blinking light indicating that it was still working. She used her spanner to turn the switch off, and the blinking stopped.

She got up and paused at the curtain separating the galley from their room. “Can I come in?”

She heard Din flick the lights off. “Sure.”

She ducked through and sensed him sitting up against the back wall, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands folded in his lap. She moved to the back and sat facing him, straddled over his legs, knees at his hips as he straightened his legs and moved his hands to her thighs. She leaned in for what she’d meant to be a brief kiss, but he held her there longer, hand at the back of her neck. When they pulled apart several moments later, the question came back to her mind. _Were his eyes open or closed?_

“Open,” he said. “You?”

“Closed.” She sighed, not having meant to push her thoughts to him. “Gideon will try to provoke you today.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let him.”

“I won’t.” He paused for a moment. “Why did you keep Xi’an’s knives?”

Rayne tilted her head. It seemed like an odd question for this particular moment, but she rolled with it anyway, understanding that he must have found them when retrieving her lightsaber during their previous encounter with Gideon. “They’re good blades. I didn’t want to leave them in the street. I thought about maybe learning how to use them, but-”

“Sell them,” he interrupted. “First chance you get. I don’t want them on my ship.” The silence hung for a few seconds before he added, “Please.”

“I will,” she said. Given everything, the request was a reasonable one, even if his timing was questionable.

One more task.

* * *

Din wrestled Yadier into winter clothes while Rayne worked on rigging the starboard sublight engine to leak ionized radiation when they came out of hyperspace.

Making the bait of an injured ship look more wounded than it actually was.

Yadier was not used to wearing socks. Or mittens. Or having his ears covered. He fussed and squirmed and groaned. Din managed to keep his patience and only growled at him once. Cara did her best not to laugh at the spectacle as she pulled her own cold-weather gear on. For his part, Din had thrown on an extra thermal baselayer. His armor’s environmental system would do the rest.

“Think you can handle him while we manage the landing?” Din asked her.

“We’ll do just fine,” she said. She had taken Yadier’s peace offering to heart, placing the large, silvery bearing at the head of her bunk. They had come a long way since the Force-choking incident.

Rayne came down the ladder, jacket on but unzipped. “Engine’s ready. We come out of hyperspace in ten minutes. Let’s strap in.”

* * *

Rayne was buckled into the pilot’s seat, the chair itself locked into the forward-facing position, amber goggles pulled over her eyes, ready for the blinding white she would face once entering the atmosphere. She reached under the console and flipped a switch, turning the ship-wide fob scrambling system off. Then she settled both hands on the sticks. Waiting. Ready.

Din was in the starboard jump seat, orbital scanner up, running, and ready. He tapped at his vambrace, once more keying it to Rayne’s wristband, then settled back as her pulse buzzed with a steady beat against his wrist.

Cara was in the port jump seat, Yadier strapped to her in the _birikad_.

Rayne’s eyes flicked to the navicomp. “Exiting hyperspace in five, four, three, two, one, mark.”

The blue-white ripple of hyperspace bled to streaks of white against black, and no sooner were they in realspace then Rayne hauled on the sticks to throw the Razor Crest into a yawing, tumbling spin to the surface, turning her head with the movement of the ship to always keep the planet in her sights, hoping to make the Razor Crest look like it was in trouble.

“Vibre’s in orbit,” Din said, consulting the scanner. “Gideon’s here.”

“Yyyyeeeeeee!!!” Yadier squealed with glee, eyes huge and round as he watched the stars swing around the canopy.

Cara sighed and held tight, no stranger to stomach-churning drops.

“Coordinates for the base?” Rayne asked.

“Still searching,” Din said. “Star Destroyer is on the other side of the planet.”

“Copy,” Rayne said. She continued to tumble the ship in a slow descent, not wanting to take an orbital trajectory and end up under the Star Destroyer if they didn’t have to.

“Found it,” Din said. “Coordinates on your screen.”

“Copy,” Rayne responded. The base was located in the equatorial trench, as they suspected it would be. She angled for it, smoothing out their approach a bit, but kept things a little janky for show.

Now that the view outside was more-or-less stable, Cara took a look out of the windscreen and her breath caught in her throat. It took a lot to shock a woman whose home planet had literally been blown to bits by a system-scale weapon, but seeing a massive trench the volume of a moon strip-mined out of a planet was enough to do it.

Rayne wasn’t kidding. The Empire _had_ desecrated it.

Rayne maintained her focus on flying, but the sight of the trench with her own eyes for the first time was enough to tie her gut in a knot. She stuffed the rage down and concentrated on the task at hand.

Din scanned the topography of the area, looking for a ledge on the trench wall near the base to land on, a chokepoint in the landscape, a high ground. He found it a few moments later and sent it to Rayne’s screen. “You have landing coordinates.”

“Copy.” She brought the Razor Crest in hotter than she normally would have, but still managed to ease back in the final seconds for a reasonable landing. Everyone set to motion immediately, Din taking care of the shut-down sequence as Rayne zipped up her jacket and Cara transferred Yadier to her. Din brought up the topographical map on the ship’s main HUD. The Crest was on a ledge a hundred meters up from the floor of the trench. The route down the wall to the floor was a scramble, but doable, the final twenty meters of elevation drop a gentle scree slope. They were in a small box canyon off of the main trench, no more than fifty meters wide, a hundred meters long; not as narrow of a choke-point as Din would like, but it would be good enough. The low structure of Gideon’s base was a kilometer away.

A line of troopers was emerging from it already. They would be at the mouth of the canyon in a few minutes.

Time to go.

Cara hefted that glorious, enormous repeater gun.

Din’s knife was in his boot, sidearm in its holster, and Rayne’s lightsaber clipped to his belt. His pulse rifle would stay behind; it would likely hinder his movement when using the saber.

Rayne had Yadier strapped to her chest in the _birikad_ and stuffed a few handwarmer packets down by the baby’s feet for good measure. She shoved a hat over her head and slipped her amber goggles back over her eyes.

She and Yadier were their own weapons.

The portside hatch opened and the arctic gale of Ilum whipped into the Crest. Rayne sure as hell hadn’t missed _that_. She walked down the ramp as the cold air filled her lungs and stung the uncovered parts of her face and stopped dead in her tracks when her foot hit the ground.

The _kyber_.

All of the fucking _kyber_.

The box canyon had once contained a vein of it, and enough of it was still left in the surrounding rock that she felt it buzz through her, making her teeth chatter and sending a dim, high-pitched whine through her ears.

Yadier sensed it too, craning his head every which way, his ears twitching despite being stuffed under a hat.

Rayne led the way down the wall, Din following, Cara taking her time with the heavy ordnance. Din’s gut tightened as he watched the mother of his son make her way down, movements deliberate and sure-footed as she stepped from rock to rock. They took up their position on a ledge halfway down. Yadier was tucked in, warm and snug, facing Rayne, but they both turned their heads in Din’s direction as he passed by. The clan of Rollins-Djarin exchanged a nod, but nothing more.

Everything had already been said.

Cara took up her position behind a large boulder half-way down the scree.

Din stood at the floor of the canyon, cloak whipping in the wind.

The bait was set.

This wasn’t the fight he wanted. He wanted Rayne at his side, like they had been before, wanted her defending him in close quarters to protect his advance. Instead she had his back, and he knew in his head that this was the best setup for the situation at hand, so he accepted it, even if it made his heart ache.

Rayne had her hands pulled into the sleeves of her jacket for the time being, but she brought them up to pat Yadier’s back all the same. “Remember,” she said. “This is all about you. Protect yourself. Don’t burn yourself out. I don’t know what your limits are, and this kyber’s gonna make that tricky. If I survive this and you don’t, your father will kill me.”

It wasn’t a joke. She had no doubt that Din would bring the blade of her own lightsaber to her throat if that scenario came to pass. And she would let him do it.

The Stormtroopers approached. White armor against the white landscape. The leading vanguard of bodies clad in the wardrobe of war, gun fodder, little more than meat waiting to die. A couple hundred of them.

The Deathtroopers followed. More determined. Better trained. Meat that would fight a little harder before it died. Maybe fifty of them.

Was Gideon among them?

And then…

She heard it before she saw it.

Felt it at the same time she heard it.

Thump.

Thump.

_Thump._

THUMP.

_THUMP._

An AT-ST loomed in the distance, mostly obscured by the wind-driven snow.

Well, fuck.

Cara let out a sigh. She sure as hell hadn’t signed up for _that_.

Din’s voice came in over their coms. “Is it too late to retreat?”

“I think I can handle it,” Rayne said.

“With _what_?” Cara asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

“Not sure yet, but I have a hunch…”

The troopers continued to advance and the Mandalorian, the Rebel, the Jedi, and the baby held their ground as the wind screamed all around them.

Rayne watched the Imps advance, standing in the trench of desecration they had dug into the only ground she had ever considered holy. It wasn’t enough that they had turned Eagle against her. It wasn’t enough that they had murdered all of the friends and teachers of her childhood. It wasn’t enough that they had driven her into hiding at the age of ten. It wasn’t enough that they had hunted her people to the edge of extinction. They had to go and mine the sacred crystals for the purpose of destruction. They had to go and use what they ripped out of the ground here to destroy entire _worlds_. Extinguish _billions_ of souls at a time.

She remembered the vision she had here. Just a day before it had all come down. She remembered the despair those visions had brought as she lay crumpled at the bottom of a cave, cold and crying, the helplessness of watching children fall to the blade while she was powerless to do anything. As the vision happened, she had understood that any action in that moment would result in her own death. She had understood that, as horrible as it was to watch, sometimes you had to wait it out. Until you were ready. Until you were strong enough to fight back. Only then could you strike. When you were powerful enough to bring your enemy down. The vision had faded and the yellow kyber crystal revealed itself to her.

Today, the crystal had returned home. In the core of the lightsaber clipped to the belt of the man before her. The man she had shared herself with so much over such a short span of time, and who had shared of himself with her. Not with entire completion, and not without hesitancy, but with a depth that neither was quite able to believe. A depth that allowed her to share her weapon with him, that allowed him to share his son with her, an exchange of trust that would be critical to their success in this moment.

She was ready, now.

No more waiting.

No more standing by while others were slaughtered.

Today she would fight.

Today she would make the Empire pay.

The troopers continued to advance.

The AT-ST loomed ever closer.

She heard the squalling scream of a TIE fighter approach from behind. She pushed her hands through the arms of her jacket and looked down at her son. “Ready to raise some hell?”

Yadier’s eyes narrowed and he emitted something between a giggle and a growl, bringing his mittened hands to her jacket.

Yep, he was ready.

The TIE shrieked by overhead, passed over the approaching army, then turned to line up for a strafing run along the edge of the canyon.

Rayne lifted a hand into the wind, closed her eyes, and focused. Reached. Found the TIE. Found the pilot. Pressed the fingers of her mind into the pilot’s, pressed through the pilot’s arms, took the stick, and turned the TIE back to the troopers.

Back to the AT-ST.

The pilot fought her but was no match for the Jedi who had returned to the point of her first rite of passage, was no match for the Jedi who was on the brink of rage.

Rayne heard the pilot’s screams, heard the screams and didn’t care. She rode that pilot straight into the face of the AT-ST.

Cara watched as both the TIE and the AT-ST exploded. Whooped with joy as the TIE shattered into a million pieces and the walker leaned backwards with a groan, leaned and leaned, and crashed to the ground. Now this, _this_ she had signed up for.

Din allowed himself a slow turn at the hips to look back at Rayne, who merely stood huddled on the ledge, hands already drawn back into her jacket. When she noticed him facing her, she popped a hand back out and gave him a thumbs up along with a rare, open-mouthed smile.

God _damn_ , this woman.

He spoke into the comlink embedded in his helmet. “That wasn’t Gideon, was it?”

“Nope. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

* * *

Moff Gideon watched from behind the Death Troopers as the TIE hurtled, without hesitation, into the AT-ST and smashed a hundred million credits worth of artillery, tech, and hardware to bits.

God _damn_ , that woman.

He should have just killed her when he had the chance.

He spoke into his comlink, calling off the other TIEs. He would not have Rayne Rollins throwing his fighters around like they were toys.

He ordered his troops to continue their march until they reached the mouth of the canyon.

He surveyed his opponents. The Mandalorian, the Rebel, the Jedi, and the baby. The four of them on the high ground versus two hundred and fifty troopers. It _should_ have been over all ready, between the TIE and the walker. He felt the anger rise through his throat as he called in the Vibre.

Let’s see the Jedi throw _that_ around.

But really, he wasn’t going to give her the chance.

“Open fire,” he ordered.

The roar of blaster fire he expected didn’t happen. Instead, there was only the howl of the wind. Instead of engaging, the troopers remained motionless.

The Jedi stood on a ledge half-way up the wall between the canyon floor and the gunship above, arms outstretched.

 _This. Is not. Happening_ , Gideon thought, brow furrowed in rage.

* * *

_Cold_. Rayne projected, arms up, palms out, Yadier’s hands gripping her jacket, eyes closed in concentration, funneling the Force into his mother. _You’re so cold. You don’t want to be here. You just want to go back inside and get warm. Drink a gallon of hot coca. Spike it with whiskey. Curl up in bed and go to sleep_.

Her eyes were closed, but the lack of blaster fire told her it was working. She was holding steady, feeling the Force as it rushed from Yadier through her. She kept him throttled back as much as possible, saving him for what was yet to come, but she knew he felt the kyber ringing all around them as much as she did. It was magnifying. Electrifying. Like she’s snorted five lines of spice and was ready to destroy an entire world.

Din stood facing two hundred and fifty troopers, hand hovering over the blaster at his hip, scanning for Gideon. _Where are you? Come out and face me, you_ _hut’uun_. Coward.

Cara shifted the strap of the repeater gun around on her shoulder, wondering if she was ever going to get to use the damn thing.

A low rumble filled the valley as the Vibre sank down below the cloud deck.

And then it all happened at once.

Cara felt Rayne’s signal in her head. _Now_. She swung around from the cover of the boulder and opened fire on the troopers just as Rayne let go of her control over them and they returned fire. Rayne dropped her hands, dialed Yadier all the way back to catch a break, fumbled with the frozen zipper of her jacket with the frozen fingers of her hand, finally got the thing open, and pulled out a detonator.

“Here goes nothing.” She flipped the safety shield of the detonator off and pushed the button below.

For a few sickening moments, nothing happened. _They found the charges_ , Rayne thought. _They found the fucking charges and it’s all over_.

But then the rumble became a stumbling roar, the Vibre’s starboard side canted down, and it began a slow spin, its repulsor engines beginning to fail.

* * *

Gideon was furious. He marched through his soldiers, useless piles of meat who finally decided to do something, finally opened fire when their weak, pitiful minds were released by the Jedi. Their bodies were enough to shield him from the gun the shocktrooper was using to mow them down with, but as he neared the front, he moved to the flank of the ranks and drew the Darksaber, using it to deflect the occasional shot that reached him anyway.

Din saw him the moment he broke through. He drew his blaster and fired. His first shot caught Gideon’s chestplate, which deflected the bolt with ease. The disconcerting possibility that the Moff was wearing beskar crossed his mind. Regardless, he had Gideon’s attention, freeing Cara up to cut down the troopers, and let loose with everything he had, firing round after round. He hit his mark every time, but they either deflected off of the armor or off of the Darksaber’s blade.

Seeing that he had no other choice, he holstered his sidearm and unclipped Rayne’s lightsaber.

He activated the blade.

Rayne watched from the ledge above. Once again, she was struck by déjà vu, knowing she had seen this before. A Mandalorian in full armor, cloak billowing on a frozen landscape. The shocktrooper with the enormous gun. The Mandalorian extending the yellow blade of her lightsaber.

Her vision. The night before Din and Yadier had arrived at her hangar. From nearly two months ago.

Once again, coming to pass.

Din wasted no time and approached Gideon, lightsaber in hand, taking a small amount of pleasure in the brief look of shock that flickered over the Moff’s face at the sight of it. He had a few inches over Gideon in height and Rayne’s blade was longer than the Darksaber, so he had a decent advantage in reach. He used it and struck first, Gideon blocking.

The pounding crackle of Darksaber-on-lightsaber was something neither one of them had anticipated, and they both broke away, surprised. Gideon, more familiar with his weapon than Din was with his, recovered first, returning a strike that Din blocked.

And so the Mandalorian and the Imperial Moff battled with weapons of the Jedi.

Cara growled as she mowed down Imperial troopers with the weapon of a Mandalorian.

Rayne once more raised her hands, reached out with her mind, and prepared to wield the power of the Force.

Gideon parried Din’s strikes with increasing worry. He was as aware of Djarin’s reach advantage as the Mandalorian was. Djarin was also quite a bit younger. Gideon had, in fact, trained extensively with the Darksaber, but he would be foolish to assume that training would stack up against someone as generally skilled as Din Djarin.

Moff Gideon was many things, but foolish was not one of them.

He would have to use his other advantage: his extensive knowledge of the things Djarin did not know, even about himself.

“I know that you are aware,” he began, taking a swing that Djarin blocked, “that you were rescued by Death Watch as a child.” Swing and block. No verbal response from Djarin. No change in his movement. “I wonder if you are also aware,” he continued, “of Death Watch’s alliance with Separatist forces.” Swing and block. “If you are aware of Death Watch’s strategy of staging attacks by those known locally as enemies,” swing and block, “only to swoop in and save the day to curry favor.” Swing and block. “I wonder if you are aware,” swing and block, “that your family was killed in one such attack, and that Death Watch is responsible for the murder of your parents.” Swing and block.

No change from the Mandalorian.

Did he already know?

If not, then the news did not appear to strike him as noteworthy, and Djarin was even more pathological than Gideon had guessed. He thought it more likely that the Mandalorian had already figured it out. His recent connection with Rollins could explain it. What little information he could gather on the Jedi indicated a discreet shrewdness that he did not much care for, and she could very well be connected to information sources that even he was unaware of. All the more reason to eliminate them both from the playing field.

Gideon understood that he had to push it further. Had to gamble. He was not, by nature, a gambling man, but extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.

“You are probably not aware,” swing and block, “that Alaria Kast was the mother of your firstborn child.”

Djarin stumbled.

Gideon swung and hit his mark, but the Darksaber merely scraped a diagonal line across the beskar of Djarin’s chestplate.

“And that she died,” Gideon continued, “by the edge of this very blade.”

* * *

Rayne had the Vibre in her grasp. The fingers of her mind wrapped around it. Holding it. Pulling it. Refusing to let it escape.

The wind whipped at her, threatening to blow her and Yadier from the ledge.

She stood steadfast, resisting the wind. Funneling the Force.

Yadier was pressed close to her, hands freed from his mittens and threaded through the zipper of her jacket, pressed directly to the skin of her chest, just below her throat, on either side of the beskar casing containing a lock of his father’s hair, as direct a link as possible. His eyes were closed in concentration, but he remained strong, gathering the Force around him, _pulling_ the Force around him, sending it to his mother, sending her as much as he sensed she could take.

He had gotten so much stronger in his time with her. The kyber embedded in the rock all around them sang to him, lifted him up, powered him further. But it wasn’t quite enough. He could push more, but his mother did not have the capacity to funnel it through.

Not for very long, anyway.

The Jedi had taught Rayne to always keep a cool head. To not let emotion cloud her actions. To push through adversity by the strength of her own will.

But sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Sometimes, one needed more.

Yadier had not been taught such things. Until he had drawn Rayne into his orbit, he had not been taught anything about the Force, only stumbling into its use. Until he had met her, his use of the Force had mostly been driven by fear.

Fear of the mudhorn. Fear of Cara. Fear of the Incinerator Trooper.

His first attempt to use it to heal the man who would become his father had been purely instinctual. A hunch. Same for when he had managed to heal Karga. These people would help him.

Then later, he had healed his father out of love.

Yadier did not know the precise word for “love.” His mother had said it to him before, that night on Coruscant, when she had told him that she loved him. He didn’t remember the word, but he remembered what she had felt; her overwhelming desired to protect him, to provide for him, to teach him everything she knew so that he would grow strong and grow well. His father never had said the word, but the feelings that bloomed from him were the same; protect at all costs. Provide at all costs. Give him all the warmth he could manage. He had felt these things from them before, had felt them even more since, but that had been the moment when they had made it plain to him how much they felt it for him.

And yet they stumbled so badly at making it plain to each other.

Yadier didn’t know the word for it, but he understood the meaning of it. The power of it. If he could get his mother to recognize it in herself, to use it to harness the Force on behalf of his father, she would gain the strength to do what needed to be done.

He pressed even closer to her as the wind screamed around them, pressed closer to her warmth, increasing the bandwidth of his connection to her. He summoned his memory of that night on Coruscant, pushed the thought of it into her mind along with the power of the Force he funneled through.

_Remember?_

_I do._

_Love you. You love me._ It wasn’t a question. Not quite with those words exactly, but she understood the meaning

 _Yes. Love you._ With everything going on around them, the ship straining against them, the wind whipping at them, sleet stinging against their skin, she reflected it again.

 _Love buir. He love me._ He focused on the image of his father, the only image he knew, the blank T-visor, a face devoid of all emotion, but a face he associated with love and protection and safety.

_Yes, he does._

_Love buir? Buir love buir?_

Oh, Yadier.

Yadi, baby, why did you have to ask this right now?

Despite the gender-neutrality of Mando’a, she knew exactly what he was asking.

If she loved Din.

And how the hell was she supposed to know that if she wasn’t quite sure if Din felt that about her?

Because after Zavin, after confessing her love to him and his inability to reciprocate, she had sworn to herself she would never again be the first to admit it. Never again make such a vulnerable offering only to have it go unanswered. And after Hayes had offered his love to her with such unbounded willingness, only to disappear with it in the cold hard vacuum of space, she had decided that maybe she was done with all that entirely.

She opened her eyes and let her gaze drift down to the trench floor, Cara laying the troopers to ruin with the repeater gun, and Din fighting Gideon blade-to-blade.

She watched as Din stumbled for no apparent reason. Watched as Gideon got him across the chest with the Darksaber.

Her heart caught in her throat as Din staggered back a step and Gideon advanced.

_No… no no no no… please no…_

Relief as Din rebounded and swung her blade against the Imp. Pride as he dragged it through Gideon’s armor, even if it did seem to repel the blade. Longing to be there next to him, to fight at his side, to feel the presence of his motions in her mind, to allow him the presence of her motions in his, to coordinate their efforts in the seamless manner of a single consciousness divided into two bodies, the single-minded calm and concentration that had come with it during their last battle. That if she were to die, it would be at his side, in service to their family. In service to their clan.

As a Jedi, she had been trained to accept the fact that she could die to save the galaxy.

As a Mandalorian’s Jedi, she had also come to accept the fact that she could die to save her son and his father.

Yadier had his answer.

* * *

_He’s lying_ , Din thought. He knew Gideon would try to provoke him. When the Moff had failed with the bait of old news, he’d made something up. Din didn’t know how Gideon had learned of Alaria or his connection to her, but there was no way she’d been pregnant when they were separated. She’d had an implant. He had stood by her side when she’d received it, as was the customary ritual for _Sol’yc_. For the First. No one did protection better than Mandalorians, and their contraception was no less impervious than their beskar.

The bait was fake. Meant to lure him in. But the hooks were very much real, and he would not let himself get distracted again.

He recovered from his backward step, and seeing that Gideon had taken his stumble for granted, he lashed forward again, hitting his mark for the first time.

His Jedi’s lightsaber merely scraped along Gideon’s armor.

It _was_ beskar, then.

An Imp wearing beskar.

 _Keep it cool_ , he reminded himself.

* * *

Cara swept the repeater back and forth, grinning as the troopers fell before her.

God, she loved this gun.

She was having a _blast_.

* * *

The Force _surged_ through her.

Rayne stood, arms outstretched, shaking. She had the Vibre in her grip. She felt its wounds. Radiation spewed from the detonated reactor, poisoning everyone aboard. The navigators were too far away to control. She had to handle the ship directly. The engines still sputtered along, still fought her. She battled back, dragging it down.

She searched for the weapons. Searched for the ammunition.

She found it.

She detonated it. She detonated all of it.

This time, the explosions were immediately apparent. They ripped along the perimeter of the Vibre, sending shockwaves through the ship and the canyon.

Rayne wasn’t prepared for the blowback through the Force.

A hundred lives extinguished all at once.

Tons of ammunition detonated all at once.

It hit her like a bolt of lightning, throwing her into the rock wall behind her, the back of her head connecting, the Force lancing back up through her hands and arms. She let out a strangled scream as she stopped it before it got to Yadier, holding it off. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was blind, her surroundings nothing but a hazy red. She realized all she could hear was the high-pitched whine of impending unconsciousness. She realized all she could feel was the way her heart hammered with uncontrollable stutters in her chest.

With the last of what she had, she cast the Force out, back onto the Vibre, and brought it down to Gideon’s base. She couldn’t see the crash, but she could feel it. The deep rumble of a starship and concrete crumbling, vaporizing, burning, conducting through the kyber-infused rock through the floor of the canyon and up the rock walls to where she stood.

She lowered her arms. Blind, deaf, numb, she sank to her knees.

Blind, deaf, numb, the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness was seamless.

* * *

The Moff and the Mandalorian heard the detonation at the same time.

Knowing it was his ship, Gideon made the mistake of letting himself get distracted, turning away from Din to see the Vibre engulfed in fire.

It was the last thing he saw.

Din brought the blade across Gideon’s neck, parting the Imp’s head from his shoulders, marking the first direct kill of the saber constructed by an orphaned Jedi Sentinel. The saber powered by the last kyber crystal harvested from the Temple of Ilum through a Gathering rite of passage. Wielded by a Mandalorian against the Darksaber.

The body fell at Din’s feet as the Vibre fell to the planet’s surface, and the Darksaber clattered to the ground, deactivated. Din bent, picked it up, and clipped it to his belt next to Rayne’s.

The few troopers that were left turned tail and ran, Cara whooping with victory.

Din turned to look back up the mountainside, zooming in with his HUD to where Rayne and Yadier should have been.

They weren’t there. Or if they were, Rayne wasn’t standing.

No… no no no…

Cara followed his gaze. She couldn’t see the details he could, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, could see his hands close into fists.

And so when he took off running, she dropped the gun and followed as he ran past her.

He had never run so fast in his life.

He got within range of his vambrace’s connection with Rayne’s wristband before he could see them, and he stifled a scream when the vibration against his wrist was nothing but a low, constant buzz.

She was in cardiac arrest.

He gained the ledge and made the final sprint.

He saw their bodies, Rayne on her back, Yadier still strapped to her, face-down on her chest. He skidded to a stop next to them, kneeled before them, undid the clips on the _birikad_ , and pulled his unresponsive son free. Chest heaving, he pressed his fingers to the inside of Yadier’s upper arm, the place where he could best feel his pulse… and felt nothing.

“Goddammit…” He tapped a few controls on his vambraces, making adjustments as Cara caught up. He tipped his chin in Rayne’s direction. “CPR.”

“Copy,” Cara said, dropping to her knees. She slid her fingers along Rayne’s neck, confirmed her lack of a pulse, removed the goggles from her face, found the correct place on her sternum, and began chest compressions.

Finishing with the adjustments to his vambraces, Din opened Yadier’s jacket and robe to expose the bare, green skin of his chest, placed the wrist-end of one vambrace flush against him on the upper left corner of his chest, the other at the lower right, hoping like hell that his son’s heart lay roughly in the same place in his chest as it did for humans, and pumped five-hundred volts of electricity through the tiny green baby.

“C’mon…” He checked again for a pulse. “C’mon c’mon c’mon…” Finding none, he sent another bolt of current through his son’s body.

Cara continued her work on Rayne, counting off thirty compressions, giving her two breaths, continuing with compressions.

“Please… please…” Din’s voice was down to a whisper. He sent a third bolt through and checked. No pulse. He sent a fourth and checked.

And found a pulse. “Oh, please…” Yadier sucked in a breath. Coughed. Then sucked in another. Din was still for a few more moments to be sure Yadier’s pulse and breaths held steady. When they did, he brought his hands to his own throat, undid the bindings holding his cloak in place, pulled it out from his armor, and wrapped his still-unconscious son in it to protect him from the biting cold.

Cara watched as she continued compressions, allowing herself a flicker of hope at Din’s quick movements. When he got up and pointed, she understood his intensions, switching places with him, cradling Yadier in her arms, tucking the cloak around him, watching for signs of responsiveness, keeping her hand against his chest to monitor his breathing.

Din adjusted his vambraces again, pausing when he realized he was no longer getting any feedback from Rayne’s wristband.

She was flatlined.

“Fuck…”

This was bad.

This was really, fucking, bad.

The _birikad_ was already unclipped and out of the way. Din opened her jacket, yanked her shirt up, and pressed his vambraces to her skin, sending a thousand volts through her.

Nothing.

He tried again. Another thousand.

Nothing.

“Don’t you dare… don’t you fucking leave me… don’t you fucking dare…”

Again. Nothing.

Again. Nothing.

“Come back!” he screamed. Cara watched as his chest emptied with the words and filled with breath once more. “Get back here, goddammit!” His voice tore through the modulator, amplitude overloading, clipping through static.

Again. The vambrace chirped.

Out of charge.

“No…”

Cara’s heart sank as she watched Din wilt around Rayne, head lowered to hers, shoulders slumped. He only stayed there for a moment before he stood, tilted his head back as if to look to the sky, turned away, and took a few steps back down the ridge. He lowered his head, hands fisted at his sides.

And then he lifted his hands.

With a dawning sense of horror, Cara realized he was going for the helmet. His back was turned, but she turned away anyway, hearing the seal break, hearing his unmodulated scream, hearing the crack of beskar against rock as he threw it down.

Din sank back to his knees, closed his eyes, and lifted his face to the wind, welcoming the sting of it against the tears on his face, feeling it rip through his throat as he breathed it in, freezing him from the inside out.

He had lost her.

His mechanic. His friend. His lover. His crewmember. His surgeon. The mother of his son. His counselor. His Jedi. His battle partner.

All of the things she had become to him over the span of a couple of months.

All gone.

So many had died before him. Mostly as enemies. But a few had done so willingly. Given their lives for him. Sacrificed for him. And he hated that list for growing.

He pulled the knife from his boot, opened his eyes, and contemplated the blade in his hand.

How many had died by it?

Who would be the last he killed with it?

He closed his eyes again, tilted his head, and laid the flat of the blade against his throat, under his jaw, feeling the beat of his own pulse against the edge.

Would he die by his own hand? Deny all other enemies the pleasure of his murder by beating them to it?

He heard his son’s cries over the scream of the wind as Yadier regained consciousness.

He lowered the blade. Maybe later. But not today.

He sheathed his knife back into its place in his boot.

Instead, he lifted his head once more into the wind, eyes still closed, and let Rayne’s life, what little he knew of it, from his own limited perspective, flicker through his mind.

The first time she held Yadier, moments after he’d landed the Razor Crest in her hangar.

Drinking beer by the fire in the yard.

Her face, lips parted, their first moments together in his bunk on the Crest.

The way she’d laughed at him when he’d tried to recruit her.

The way she’d flattened an entire platoon of Stormtroopers.

Her sadness when she placed her lightsaber on the table before him.

Her vibrancy as she played with Yadier in the lake.

Her solemn expression when she adopted his son.

Her cool calculation as she interrogated Xi’an.

The broken sound of her voice the first time he put his lips to her skin.

Her fierce determination when she told him what it meant to have a family with Jedi.

Her fluid deadliness against thirty Stormtroopers after enduring torture at the hands of an Imperial Moff.

And now she was gone.

And now he felt the empty places crumble in upon themselves, no longer supported by all the pieces of her that had filled him up, not realizing how hollow he was until she spilled out of him.

“Mando…” Cara’s voice was low and cautious under the wind.

_Leave me alone…_

“Din!”

“What!” What the _fuck_ could possibly be so important?

“Get over here!”

He heaved an angry sigh, collected his helmet, slammed it back over his head, and returned to Cara’s side.

Returned to see Yadier at his dead mother’s side, eyes closed, hands pressed to her shoulder, trembling. _Shaking_ with effort.

Oh, shit… oh, no…

Din sank again to his knees, hands grasping at the top of his head, at an utter loss as to what to do. Stop his son from risking his life over a lost cause? Encourage him on the off-chance that it would work?

The decision was taken out of his hands when Rayne’s eyes snapped open and she sucked in a long, ragged, harrowing breath.

Din and Cara both twitched back, startled as much by the sudden motion as by what they saw.

Rayne’s eyes. Completely bloodshot. Pupils blown, one far more than the other.

Yadier collapsed, eyes closed. Cara scooped him up, wrapping him in Din’s cloak again, checking his breathing. “He’s fine,” she said, looking in Din’s direction.

Din leaned over Rayne’s body, watching her chest rise and fall with breath, once more feeling the tap of her heartbeat against his wrist. Sluggish. Steady.

She was alive.

Technically.

But he had seen those eyes. Had seen those dead, empty pupils.

He didn’t know if Yadier had saved her life, or condemned her to a prolonged death.

Hands shaking, he zipped her jacket back up, replaced the goggles on her face, and gathered her in his arms.

Cara strapped the _birikad_ to herself, slid Yadier into it, and wrapped Din’s cloak around both her and the baby. She made her way back down the wall, went to Gideon’s body, and retrieved what she also knew was beskar armor from it. She stopped at the boulder that had been her cover on the way back, slung the gun over her shoulder, and caught up to Din by the time he’d made it to the Razor Crest.

His steps were slow as he walked up the ramp, Rayne’s body limp in his arms. He crossed the hold and lay her on Cara’s bunk, lacking a dignified way of getting her to their space upstairs. Cara closed the hatch behind her, laying the gun and the stolen beskar in the corner, and returned to find Din standing and staring down at Rayne. Motionless.

“Hey…” she said. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Hey…”

His head turned in her direction with an agonizing slowness, but he remained silent.

“Get the ship in the air. I’ll take care of them.”

He was motionless for one more moment before he turned to the bulkhead behind which the paper with the coordinates to their next stop was hidden, removed it, retrieved the paper, and shuffled to the ladder. He paused when he reached it, placed a hand on the rung in front of him, and sighed, as if he was gathering the effort it would take to haul himself up. After another few moments, he found the strength and ascended the ladder.

Cara placed Yadier next to his mother and found the medkit as she heard the Crest’s engines fire up. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought they sounded like they ran better, seemed like the ship ran smoother, than when she’d been on it two months ago. She knew the woman before her was responsible for it. Some people were just meant to fix things, and Cara knew them when she saw them.

She hoped they would find someone who could do the same for Rayne.

She treated Din’s family the best she could. Applied bacta patches to the vambrace burns, warmed up a bag of saline in the galley and started an IV on Rayne, tucked Din’s cloak and another blanket around both Rayne and Yadier. When she had done all she could, she joined Din on the flight deck.

The coordinates were set, but he hesitated, unable to bring himself to jump the ship to hyperspace. Unable to come to terms with what he might have to give up where they dropped back out. “I can’t lose them both, Cara.”

“His people can probably help her.”

“You really believe that?”

“I believe that more than I believe anyone else can help her.”

He remained motionless.

“Or you can let her die down there and live with the fact that he’ll never forgive you for it.”

He reached for the hyperdrive lever, wrapped his fingers around it, and pulled it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tough battle chapter. My spouse’s only words of encouragement: “Don’t worry. It can’t be any worse than the Star Wars Holiday Special.” Thanks, babe. ;D
> 
> For those who really know their stuff, Alaria is a relative of [Veraslayn Kast](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Veraslayn_Kast), a Death Watch propaganda artist. 
> 
> The end is in sight! Pretty sure we only have two more chapters to go on this one. Buckle up, kids. We’re not done yet.


	15. The Asylum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey. A prognosis. A promise.
> 
> A wish half-granted.
> 
> The other half must still be earned.

_I don’t know if I’m gonna have to redesign my mind  
But tonight I made a wish and I sure hope that it comes true  
Cause it’s been too long without you_

Train, [I Wish You Would](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7iSzSTP6bU)

* * *

Din stared at the navicomp as the Razor Crest slipped away from Ilum.

No planet was shown on the map where the coordinates indicated. Instead, a radioactive asteroid field appeared in its place. They’d either find help or get smashed to bits before being fried.

Din didn’t really care which, at this point.

Din, like his ship, was on autopilot.

He heard Cara moving things around, not really listening. He stared out the windscreen, not really seeing the blue-white ripple. Sweat ran down his back between his shoulder blades, not realizing he’d forgotten to change the environmental settings on his armor and change out of the thermal base-layer he’d added.

After an hour or so, Cara sat in the port jump seat. “How long until we get there?”

“Three days.”

Cara frowned. Three days trapped on a cramped ship with a comatose Jedi and a zombie Mandalorian. And who knew what kind of state the kid would be in when he woke up?

She had not signed up for this.

Not one for empty platitudes and knowing he wasn’t either, she didn’t bother with telling him things would be ok or encouraging him to keep his hopes up. Instead, she got up, retrieved the whiskey and a glass from the galley, and headed down to the hold.

Cara set up at the table, poured herself a double, and toasted the warm bodies before her. “You won,” she said, and knocked it back.

This. This right here. This was why she didn’t do the family thing.

It was bad enough as it was. It was bad enough when they were just allies. When the kid was just her friend’s son. When Rayne was just her friend’s lover. Yadier would most likely be fine. He was still making the occasional movements of deep sleep, the same kind of thing he did before. But Rayne…

Cara sighed. Rayne was probably toast. Maybe there would be Jedi where they were headed. Maybe they could work a more powerful form of enemy sorcery than the kid could and get her back.

Maybe.

But Cara had found that cynicism worked out better for her in these kinds of situations.

Less heartbreaking.

It was just as well that Din’s obsession with his Creed had dissuaded her from joining him after Nevarro. Otherwise it could be him lying half-dead in that bunk and it could be her sitting on the flight deck with her brain short-circuited over the whole thing.

No thank you.

She poured herself another double.

Up on the flight deck, Din finally realized he was sweating through his clothes when his visor fogged up. He tapped his vambrace to turn off his armor’s environmental system, then sat there for another ten minutes, not really giving a shit that his clothes were soaked. Once his sweat cooled and he started to shiver, he decided he did give a shit, and got up to change his clothes in the space behind the galley. Clearing the curtain, he saw that Cara had moved her things up here and moved the second mattress out, mostly likely down next to Rayne. It took him a moment to process, to figure it out, to realize it made sense, the autopilot of his brain operating at a sluggish delay.

He decided to just pick up some fresh clothes and take a shower.

He lost track of time in there, not realizing it until the water ran cold. Had he even used soap? He couldn’t remember. He was thoroughly rinsed at any rate, so he got out and toweled off. He kept his gaze averted from the mirror as he brushed his teeth, unable to face himself. He realized he’d have to keep the helmet on for the duration once he left the fresher, so he reached for the hairdryer.

The warm air made him feel a little better, but only for an instant, remembering where it had come from.

Fully dressed and armored, he stepped out of the fresher and shoved the sweaty stuff in the clothes unit. Seeing Cara at the table, he retrieved a glass and a straw from the galley, took a seat on the other side of the table from her, both of them facing the two Force sensitives in the bunk, poured, and drank.

Cara couldn’t help herself. “Really? Whiskey through a straw?”

Din’s only response was to extend a gloved middle finger in her direction.

They drank together in silence. It wasn’t long before Din’s chin dipped to his chest and jerked back up again. They were both drinking on empty stomachs, but Din had far less experience with that kind of thing than Cara. “Better call it a night, buddy,” she said.

He heaved a sigh, hauled himself out of the chair, took two shuffling steps across the hold, and collapsed onto the mattress that Cara had brought down and placed on the floor next to Rayne.

Cara raised her glass in a silent toast and downed it. Gathering the bottle and glasses, she headed up to the galley, made herself a sandwich for dinner, and went to bed in her new space upstairs.

* * *

The next day wasn’t much better.

Cara came down to the hold to find Din and the baby already awake. Din was sitting on the mattress on the floor, leaning with his back to Rayne’s bunk, left knee pulled half-way up to his chest, Yadier cradled in his left arm. The baby’s huge eyes blinked with slow sadness, face wet with a steady stream of silent tears.

“Any change?” Cara asked, offering Din a cup of coffee with a clean straw.

He shook his head with a slow turn, ignoring the coffee.

She placed it on the floor next to him. “You or Yadier eat yet?”

Another slow shake.

She made them bacon and eggs. No one in their right mind could resist bacon and eggs.

She placed the plate next to the as-yet untouched coffee. Din removed the glove from his right hand, broke off a piece of bacon, and offered it to Yadier. When the baby didn’t open his mouth, Din tried to wiggle it through his lips, only for it to get pushed out by a tiny tongue. Din offered a chunk of scrambled egg and was met with the same lack of interest.

“Maybe later,” he sighed.

“Want me to take him up so you can eat?”

“Maybe later.”

She left the plate and went back up to make her own.

Din pulled the other knee up and shifted Yadier to face him, the dark, wet eyes of his son breaking his heart. _“_ _Ni ceta,”_ he whispered. _I’m sorry_. “I made her promise to protect you. At Takodana. I thought I could trust her. I knew I couldn’t make her promise to protect herself, but _you_ …” He shook his head. “She swore she would. She didn’t. I chose the wrong person. I’m sorry.”

The rage he expected, the rage he should have felt, no matter how hard he tried to summon it, wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t slog its way through the sludge of what was left of his mind. Rayne had failed his son, had allowed him to come to grave danger, but he somehow couldn’t bring himself to hate her.

Yadier’s face crunched into a sob as he threw himself into Din’s chestplate, tiny claws of one hand scrabbling for the top edge. _Guilt_ poured through Din’s mind, and he knew it wasn’t his own. It was the first real emotion he’d felt since boarding the Razor Crest yesterday, and it overwhelmed him. He held his son close, hands gentle against the baby’s back and head. “I… don’t understand….”

Yadier closed his eyes, gripping the top of Din’s chestplate with both hands now, and projected the memory, not the sights, but the _sensations_ , of how he had overpowered his mother, how the blowback of the exploding Vibre had taken them both by surprise, and how his mother _had_ protected him, had held it off to the utmost of her abilities, had kept it from reaching him.

Yadier had misjudged, and his mother had paid the price.

And he would never forgive himself.

The gravity of his son’s guilt struck Din like a hammer to the chest as the baby shook and sobbed in his hands. Din’s blame for Rayne fell away and was replaced by concern for his son. He couldn’t let Yadier hold himself responsible for this. Couldn’t let him carry the weight of this responsibility on his tiny shoulders. Rayne had been terrified of their son falling to the Dark Side, and this kind of shame seemed like a direct path to it. He remembered the peculiar sparkle to the rocks in the trench walls at Ilum and connected the dots.

“It was the kyber,” Din whispered to his son. “Remember all the kyber there? It threw everything off. It wasn’t your fault.” The baby’s shaking tapered to a light tremble, cries dying to a small sniff. “The place we’re going… they might be able to help her.”

Yadier let out a wet string of nonsense, the last word of which was _buir_. Din guessed it meant something along the lines of _Save buir_.

“Yes,” Din answered. “We’ll try.”

They dozed off and on through the day, and Din got up a few times to stretch his legs, carrying Yadier with him, the baby refusing to be out of direct contact. He kept his back to Rayne as much as possible, unable to process anything more than the periodic tap of his vambrace against his wrist, assuring him that her heart was still going, still moving along, even if the rest of her wasn’t.

At some point, Cara switched out the saline for a glucose solution on the IV and cleared their untouched breakfast. At some other point, Cara brought down dinner. A plate of sliced up meat and vegetables. She put it on the table as Din and Yadier gazed up at her from the floor. “You two have to eat.”

Neither one of them made a move aside from one slow blink of the baby’s eyes, no more readable than the blank T-visor of Din’s helmet.

She rolled her eyes. Never in her life did she imagine that she would have to force-feed a Mandalorian and an alien baby.

She pointed at Din. “You know he has to eat. He won’t do it unless you do. You have to let him see you eat. You said I could take the helmet off to save your life. Can you bring yourself to take it off to save his?”

Din’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “It doesn’t quite come to that, but you’ll need to do the baby thing for a few minutes.”

She was willing to compromise. “Deal.”

He handed Yadier to her and they sat at opposite sides of the table. Cara held Yadier to watch as Din made a show of picking up a fork, sticking it into one of the meat cubes, then turned away in his seat, lifted the helmet just enough to get the fork to his mouth, then slid the helmet back down and turned around as he chewed, displaying the empty fork. He’d done something similar with Yadier in their first days after Nevarro, when they’d both been so hungry and exhausted that Din hadn’t had the patience to wait until the baby was asleep to eat, but his son had required far less convincing at that point.

Din handed the fork to Cara, who picked out the juiciest piece she could find, plucked it with the fork, and offered it to the baby.

Yadier breathed a tiny sigh through his nose. Damned if he hadn’t picked up his father’s petulant streak.

“I did it. You can, too,” Din grumbled. Hearing the unconvincing tenor of his own voice, he tried to switch to a warmer tone. “It’s good. You’ll like it.”

Yadier opened his mouth, allowed Cara to guide the meat in, and took hold of it with his tiny teeth. He held it in his mouth for a moment, as if to decide, then gave it a couple of chews and swallowed. A far cry from his usual Force-floating food directly to his mouth and swallowing it whole, but it would work.

* * *

The third day was a little better.

Din and Yadier ate breakfast with a minimum of arm-twisting. Din gave the baby a bath in the small galley sink. The baby was sedate, unable to muster the energy for his usual splashing.

For the first time since laying Rayne on the bunk, Din looked at her directly. He pulled one of the chairs over from the table and sat by her head, forcing himself to watch her breathe. He remembered their conversation about souls, remembered how she said she was fine with the idea of there being nothing after death. No pain. No suffering.

He wondered where she was right now. Given the state of her pupils, it was unlikely she was aware of anything going on around her. Was she experiencing anything at all? Was she in pain with no way of manifesting it? Was she trapped in darkness and silence? Was she trapped in some other kind of subconscious nightmare? Or was she completely suspended? If they were able to revive her, would she remember any of it?

Would she even be _her_ anymore? Or would only part of her come back? Disconnected bits and pieces that would be unable to coalesce, leaving her shattered and incomplete.

And if that was the case, how bad would it have to be to reconsider? To decide that true nothingness would be more humane? To deliver her from a not-quite-life of suffering to a painless death? And would the people they met there let him do it?

Din saw a lot of ways this could go bad, and very few ways this could go well.

A sudden wave of rage rose up from his gut and gripped the back of his neck. He looked to Yadier, asleep at the far end of the mattress, bundled up in the nest of a blanket.

He didn’t want their son to hear this.

He took the glove off of his right hand and traced the short length of Rayne’s collarbone that was visible from her throat to the edge of her shirt. “If I’d known…” His voice broke and he had to start over. “If I’d known this would happen… I’d have skinned Gideon alive. I’d have made him suffer. I’d have snapped every finger off of his hands. I’d have dislocated every joint in his body. You told me to keep it cool and I did and I wish I hadn’t. I cut his head off with the saber you built with your bare hands and he didn’t even _bleed_. Fucking blade cauterized _everything_. He died a painless death and you’re here just… fading away.” His voice broke again and he bowed his head, hands tightening into fists.

An errant memory crossed his mind. Gideon’s words about Alaria. Gideon’s lies. He pushed it aside.

One thing at a time.

“Every Imp I see for the rest of my life will pay for this,” he continued. “I know it’s not what you want. I don’t care.

“It’s what you deserve.”

* * *

The Razor Crest dropped out of hyperspace over an actual planet, not a radioactive asteroid field.

Score one for Maz.

Din put the ship in orbit, Cara in the port jump seat, Yadier in his pod in the starboard seat. Cara gazed at the blues and greens of a mostly temperate planet. “Looks nice enough from here,” she said.

“Atmosphere’s fine,” Din examined the scanner. Plenty of forests and inland fresh water. Only one major population area. Fair amount of surface-level radio transmissions, but nothing inter-stellar at the moment.”

As if on cue, the com crackled to life. “Unidentified gunship. Identify yourself and state your business.”

Din transmitted whatever registration the dynamic system had come up with at the moment and responded. “Old Republic Gunship Razor Crest. We have three adult humans and a child of an unknown species. One of the adults requires medical attention.”

“Copy, Razor Crest. State your business _here_.”

At an unmapped, secret planet. Right. “We were sent by Maz Kanata. The injured adult and the child are Force-sensitive.”

“State the affiliations of the adults.”

“Two Rebel war veterans and…” He swallowed, wondering if his next words would get them blown out of orbit. “One Mandalorian.”

The silence on the com stretched for nearly a minute before the reply came back. “Copy, Razor Crest. Follow vector eight-one-eight and land at pad one-one-three. Security and medical are standing by.”

* * *

Din, Yadier, and Cara found themselves in the waiting room of what looked like a small but well-equipped hospital, particularly for an outer-rim planet. A variety of species staffed the place, and Din found himself in an utter state of discomfort about not knowing where they were or who they were dealing with. Maz had apparently called ahead, so at least the security detail knew what was up. They hadn’t been expecting Cara, but the Starbird tat on her cheek seemed to get her a free pass, so all was well there. They had been whisked to the hospital in speeders, Din explaining what had happened to Rayne on the way, heartened by the fact that the medical staff seemed only mildly surprised by his description of the events. They were then told that a liaison would meet them at the hospital as soon as possible.

After a twenty-minute wait, a woman he figured was fifteen years his junior came out to greet them. “Mando – I’m doctor Sedlack. I treated Rayne. I’d like a word, please.”

Din handed Yadier to Cara and followed the doctor back through the sliding door. She guided him to a small briefing room that contained nothing more than a table and two chairs.

A room for breaking bad news, if there ever was one.

Din took a seat and remained silent, not daring to ask, stomping down the anxiety in his gut all the same. Sedlack sat across from him, folded her hands on the table, and sighed. Sensing that the man before her wanted nothing in the way of untruths or platitudes, she got straight to it. “We normally don’t see patients who are Force-revived after flatline. Jedi are trained not to intervene in such cases because the outcomes are usually poor, usually for the patient and sometimes for the person who revived them. In Rayne’s case, the immediate provision of CPR staved off brain damage. I was able to Force-repair the neurological damage caused by the blowback and overload. She’ll need a day or two in a bacta tank to take care of the rest. Physically, her prognosis is good.”

“But…”

The doctor nodded. “Your son brought Rayne back from the dead. In doing so, he caused a disturbance in the Force. From what I can tell, Rayne’s alignment before this wasn’t _entirely_ to the light, but far enough to not be worrisome. But after an event such as this, she will be far more vulnerable to attacks from the Dark Side.”

“What does that mean?”

“In about seventy percent of patient cases, nightmares followed by violent Force-visions, paranoid delusions, murder attempts, sometimes with success, and conversion to the Dark Side.”

Din’s blood ran cold. Of all the things to fear in the galaxy, only three made Rayne’s list. Armor. Tight spaces. And the Dark Side. “Is there any way to minimize the chances?”

“The percentages are based on Old Republic-era Jedi knights. We don’t have any data on post-purge Force-sensitives, so it’s hard to say how well they’ll apply to Rayne’s case. On the one hand, she has the advantage of a loving family that the knights did not. On the other, her training in Dark Side resistance was cut short. I’ll give her a referral to a meditative specialist who can get her up to speed once she’s out of the tank. The best thing you can do for her is try to get back to normal, inasmuch as you can in a new place.”

Sedlack’s assessment of their situation as a “loving family” made something tighten in Din’s chest. “She’s been with us for less than two months. In hiding the whole time. We don’t have a… _normal_ , yet.”

Sedlack nodded. “I was told that you and your son were on the run for much longer. I’d like to take a quick look at him.”

“Yes. Please.”

They met with Cara and Yadier in an exam room a few minutes later, Din having indicated that he wanted Cara there so he wouldn’t have to explain any findings in his own words if he didn’t have to. And, really, he needed her by his side if there was any less-than-excellent news. He filled her in on Rayne’s prognosis as Sedlack began to examine Yadier, the baby managing a half-smile despite being separated from his mother. “You mentioned there were negative outcomes for the person who does the reviving?” Din asked.

“Sometimes, yes.” The doctor slid her fingers under Yadier’s chin, then around to the back of his head, a look of concentration on her face, apparently using the Force to perform the examination. “It usually manifests as a more gradual turn to the Dark Side. Bringing someone back from the dead can inspire a malevolent craving for power. Like saving a life in such a way gives them a free pass for anything else. But again, we don’t know about untrained Force-sensitives. And certainly not about children. He may well be too young, developmentally, for this to have much of an impact on him.” Exam complete, she ran a finger along his ear. “Your son checks out for now, Mando. His cortisol levels are elevated, but that’s to be expected given the circumstances. I want you both back here in two weeks when things have settled down for you. I’ll be able to do a more meaningful exam then.” She pulled a pad of paper out of her coat pocket, wrote a few things on the top sheet, tore it off, and gave it to Din. “You’re hypertensive. I can tell _that_ from a mile away. Lay off the salt. Eat more vegetables. Relax. Fill this script at the pharmacy and take your meds. We can probably take you off of them after you check back in.”

Cara lifted an eyebrow and gave Din a smirk. “That’s what you get for a lifetime of dining on ration bars.”

He responded with a menacing tilt of the helmet. “Maybe check Dune’s liver function while she’s here.”

Sedlack turned to Cara. “You can have an exam in a private room if you like.”

“Here’s good,” Cara responded, rising to Din’s challenge.

Sensing the friendly rivalry, Sedlack reached up to press her hands against Cara’s chin much as she had done with the child, then around to the back of her neck. She stepped back after a few moments. “You’re fine.”

“Hear that, Mando? Doctor says I’m fine.” She flashed him a wicked grin.

He let out a sigh that was almost a growl.

* * *

Din sat in front of the biggest tank of bacta he’d ever seen in his life.

He’d heard of such things before. Tanks meant to submerge an entire person into for the purpose of treating internal injuries. Healing that would otherwise take months or never occur at all was accelerated down to days. Enormously expensive. But Zavin had given Din full access to Rayne’s account, so no problem there.

Rayne floated in this one now, eyes closed, arms partially raised and the short curls on her head suspended in neutral buoyancy. She was clothed in a white, form-fitting, bacta-permeable tank top and briefs. Her body convulsed in slow, rolling waves, a result of the neural stimulation provided to prevent further muscle atrophy. He found it unnerving. He had to continuously remind himself that she was not, in fact, drowning.

Yadier’s reaction had been completely different. He’d reached out for the tank upon first seeing his mother in it, and Din had obliged him, allowing him to press his face and palms to the glass. The baby had closed his eyes and sighed, truly relaxing for the first time since Ilum. Din had to admit that his son’s reaction took the edge off, trusting the baby’s judgment that things were, at the moment, ok.

Cara had ducked out to do some “recon.” He took that to mean finding a gym. Or a bar. Likely both. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been cooped up in a cramped ship with the Clan of Misery for three days, nursing them along the entire time. Definitely not what she had signed up for. He got the feeling that she would head back to Nevarro as soon as Rayne was up and around.

The fun part was over. There were no heads for Cara to bust around here.

Wherever _here_ was.

Yadier was snoring in the crook of his left arm when there was a soft knock at the doorway. Din’s right hand fell to cover his sidearm on instinct, but he pulled it away when his eyes fell upon a diminutive Rodian in administrative-looking garb. “Can I help you?” His voice was little more than a growl, more hostile than he intended, but he was too tired to care.

“Ah! No. Actually I’m, ah, here to help you. I’m your liaison. You’re the Mando that Maz Kanada sent, correct?”

“Sorry. Yes.”

“Excellent!” The Rodian pulled up a chair and sat facing Din, huge dark eyes filled with pinpricks of light. “You may call me Luc. Am I correct that you just go by Mando?”

“You are.”

“Excellent!” Luc scrutinized the tablet she held before her. “As to our patient here, you said she was raised at the Jedi Temple until the fall of the Republic, but we have no records of a Rayne Rollins ever being there.”

“That’s not her real name.”

“Ah! A pseudonym. Common among Jedi who survived the Purge. Do you know the name she used while at the temple?”

“No.”

“Hrm…” The Rodian’s face seemed to frown. “Do you happen to have any proof that she was a member of the Order?”

Din reached to the small of his back, unclipped Rayne’s lightsaber from his belt, and held it out in front of him. Keeping the hilt horizontal , he activated the blade.

The Rodian’s face brightened, and not just from the illumination of the saber. “Excellent! Yes, that will do nicely. So this is the blade you used to defeat Moff Gideon and the Darksaber?”

“Yes.” Din deactivated the saber and returned it to his belt.

“Oh, excellent indeed.” Luc pecked away at the tablet. “And you are now in possession of the Darksaber?”

“What’s this all about?”

“Oh! Sorry. I’m sure that, as a Mandalorian, you understand the need for secrecy surrounding this world.”

“Of course.”

“And the need for vetting the qualifications of the people we allow to stay here.”

Din inclined his helmet to the liaison. “I am in possession of the Darksaber.”

“Very good.” After a few more taps, Luc lay the tablet flat in her lap. “I will tell you what you need to know at present. You will be told more as things progress. Or… not. If they don’t.”

“I understand.”

“Excellent!” Luc nodded. “The name of this world is Genesaria. This world is strong with the Force. For millennia, it has drawn Force-sensitives and those who, while not sensitive to the Force, are in some way bound to those who are.”

“Their families.” Din’s voice croaked out over the modulator.

“Yes.”

Din looked down at Yadier, still asleep in his arm, apparently unperturbed by the conversation. “Can you tell me anything about him? About his family?”

“I can.”

Din couldn’t bring himself to meet the Rodian’s star-filled gaze, keeping his eyes on Yadier, a deep sigh heaving through him.

“His family was attacked by Sith agents forty years ago. We don’t know exactly what happened, only that the bodies of his parents and the agents were found together, and the baby was missing.”

Din stroked Yadier’s ear with a shaking hand, sorrow of the tragedy the baby had endured and the understanding of how it so closely mirrored his own crushing his heart. And yet, if his birth parents were no more…

“As far as we can tell, the Sith agents were followed by child traffickers. We think they took possession of the child. Our best guess is that he was bought and sold as an Underworld commodity for the next four decades. Possessed by those who meant to groom him as a personal weapon.”

Four decades. This small, sweet little boy had been a captive for forty years. Almost the entirety of Din’s life. Traded like a piece of property. “And no one thought to go looking for him?” Anger edged his voice.

“Oh, they did, for many years. As you can see, he is a small commodity. Easy to be moved quickly from one system to the next. Easily hidden. Efforts to rescue him served only to drive up his price, putting him at greater risk, so it was decided to call off the pursuit. Bide time and hope he would one day make his own way here.

“There are many who are overjoyed already at his return, Mandalorian. We are grateful for what you have done.”

“There are people of his species here, then?”

“A few, yes.”

“Does he have any surviving family?”

“No.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He does,” Luc’s sparkling gaze dropped to the child in question and the baby returned it, as if in silent conversation. “But he doesn’t remember it and he rather likes the one you gave him.”

And given those tiny grains of hope, Din clung to them with all his might.

As if sensing his thoughts, Luc continued. “We will not make any hasty decisions. He will remain with you until the arrangement that best fits his needs is determined. That arrangement may or may not include you, as you have already come to understand. Do know that whatever comes to pass, he will be safe, loved, and well-cared-for here.”

“I’m sure.” Din barely got the words out, holding his son in his arms, watching his Jedi convulse in slow motion in a giant tank of bacta.

* * *

The first thing she was aware of was warmth.

Rayne recalled a distant memory of playing in the snow. A training exercise. Her class had been sent to an arctic area for cold-weather instruction. Building snow forts and digging tunnels through the drifts serving as education in survival techniques. It had been fun until they’d had to spend the night in the shelters they’d built. No one had really been able to sleep, the inescapable cold seeping through the layers they wore despite the shelters they’d built against the wind, shivering all night long. The next morning they were allowed back inside the Temple and they all jumped into the warm pool supplied by an underground geothermal spring.

Sliding into a hot tub is one thing. Sliding into a hot tub after freezing your ass off for sixteen hours?

Fucking glorious.

Whatever she was in right now was a lot like that.

Warmth that soaked right down to her bones. Down into her gut. Up into her skull. Pushing the cold out through the ends of her fingers and toes.

The second thing she was aware of was the slow, steady electrical pulse through her body. Not painful. Just enough to tighten everything up, then let it all go. Vaguely orgasmic. The pins-and-needles tingle would start at the back of her neck, reach its fingers down through the rest of her body, every inch, every muscle would seize in its grasp, then dissipate, down from her neck, out through her feet.

She heard breathing, the closed off sound of air rushing through pipes in water. After several minutes, she recognized it as her own. She became aware of the mask over her nose and mouth, the tube shoved between her teeth and down her throat. Something about the rest of her state of being made her not care about it.

She could not open her eyes. Didn’t really care to. Wherever she was, she was safe.

 _Bacta_ , she realized. _I’m in a bacta tank_.

She’d been in one before. During the war. An explosion on the hangar deck had thrown both her and Hayes forty feet through the air before hitting the bulkhead.

What had put her in this one?

 _Oh, no_. Ilum. They’d gone to Ilum. The last thing she remembered was watching Din stumble and seeing Gideon drag the Darksaber through Din’s chestplate. _Oh, no_ …

And then…

 _Giggling_. Her son was _giggling_. A distant warble through the bacta bubble. _Buir safe Cara safe Clan safe happy together warm_. The click of tiny claws on transparisteel.

The dull _thunk_ of a beskar helmet against the tank, and what she recognized as Din’s overwhelming anxiety poured right through it, absent of words, nothing but pure emotion.

_I’m. Ssssoooo. Stoned._

Those were the only words she could summon.

Din’s anxiety was replaced by a flood of relief. _We made it_. He pushed the thought to her.

Any other response she had was lost as she slipped back under.

* * *

Din woke up to the smell of cinnamon and something sweet.

He startled in his seat when he opened his eyes to see Cara sitting across from him, eating waffles, Yadier in her lap with a waffle of his own shoved half-way into his mouth.

How had he slept through her arrival? How had he slept through his son leaving his grasp?

“Good morning,” she said, doing her best to stifle a grin.

Din groaned as he got up and stretched. The seat he’d fallen asleep in was relatively comfortable as far as hospital furniture went, but sleeping more-or-less upright had stopped working out well for him ten years ago. “You’re in high spirits. Recon go well?”

All efforts at grin stifling failed. “You could say that.”

Din regarded her with a tilt of the head and saw that her eyes were positively sparkling.

Oh. _Oh_.

He snorted. “You work fast.”

“Dude. Pickings are slim on Nevarro.”

“I know.”

“And I totally get this whole banging-a-Force-sensitive thing now. That was _mind-blowing_.”

“Cara…” He motioned to Yadier in her lap. “The baby.”

She set her plate on the table next to her and covered Yadier’s ears with her hands. “I totally get this whole banging-a-Force-sensitive thing now. That was mind-blowing!” Her hands left his ears as she picked her plate back up. Yadier giggled around his waffle as if he got the joke. “Seriously, I’m not sure I can go back to normal people after that.”

Din tilted his head back and she could almost hear his eyes roll as he sighed. “Welcome to the club.”

“The doctor told me Rayne woke up last night.”

“For a few seconds, yeah. Said something about being stoned and went back under.”

Cara raised an eyebrow, and it took Din a moment to realize what he’d just said. He motioned between Yadier and the tank by way of explanation. “They… transmit, sometimes. Get ready for that if you go back for seconds. It’s a trip.”

“Hell of a club. Anyway. Yeah, get ready for her to have some serious withdrawal when she comes out of that thing.”

* * *

Rayne woke up again later in the afternoon after just over a day in the tank. Din and Yadier were ushered away for the messy process of hauling her out, extubation, and showering the bacta off. They met back up with her in a more traditional room with a bed instead of an enormous tank. Yadier reached out for his mother with both hands, chirping and trilling and babbling, and she happily accepted him from Din.

His heart skipped a beat when, for the first time since things had gone horribly wrong, he was able to look her in the eye and see that she looked… fine. Her eyes were fine, all of the previous bloodshot webs of broken capillaries were gone. Pupils were symmetrical. Alive with light.

After all that, she was fine. She was fine.

For now.

He got her up to speed as well as he could. She didn’t remember much from Ilum, so he told her everything that had happened. Her success with bringing the Vibre down onto Gideon’s base, Cara’s success in mowing down the Imps, Din’s success at besting Gideon. The price she and Yadier had paid for it all. The possible consequences they could both face.

The grain of hope that they may be allowed to stay here with Yadier.

Cara’s apparent success with the local Force-sensitive population.

Rayne was released after a few more hours, and they caught a speeder for a ride closer to the center of the city where Din had secured temporary lodging. The suite was small, but clean and modern, with a good view of the city from twenty floors up, and an absolutely glorious bed.

The baby was put to bed.

The lights went out. The curtains were drawn. The helmet came off.

Pineapple. Her hair smelled like pineapple.

That’s what high-grade bacta smelled like, apparently.

For the first time in far too many days, he brought his lips to hers, tentative. She pressed back. The armor and clothes came off and she guided him to the bed. He sat with his back to the wall, and she sat in his lap, facing him, legs wrapped around him. Skin-to-skin. She began to shiver, the onset of bacta withdrawal. He had kept his cloak nearby in anticipation of this purpose, and he wrapped it around them both now. Skin-to-skin, lips-to-lips, lips-to-skin, breathing each other in, proving to themselves and to each other that they were both still alive, still not quite believing it.

“I need you to promise me something,” she whispered in the dark.

“Anything,” he breathed, caught up in the moment, not thinking. “Anything…”

“End me. If I fall to the Dark Side, I need you to end me.”

 _Anything but that_. He pulled his head away, holding her face in his hands, and what he would give to be able to look her in the eye in this moment. _“What?”_

“ _Please_ , Din. I don’t want to live like that. I _can’t_ live like that.”

“Rayne-”

“You’ll understand if you see it happen. It won’t really be me. The real me will be dead already.”

“Rayne-” he repeated in protest.

Her memory of him raising his blaster to Xi’an’s head and putting a bolt through her flashed through his mind. He recoiled against it.

“You did it for her. You can do it for me.”

Rage welled up in the back of his throat. “That’s not fair. That was different.”

She brought her hands to the side of his face and he wanted so much to turn away from them. “The only thing that will be different is that I will be _so much worse_. I will try to kill you. I will either try to kill Yadier or turn him with me. You _cannot_ allow either of those things to happen.”

He brought forward a memory of his own, pressing it to her as he moved his hands to cover hers. Curled behind her in the bunk on the Razor Crest, dark except for the control panel lights out in the hold, his face and the inside of his helmet wet with tears, holding her as she shook with her own angry sobs. _I’m sorry. I won’t ever do that again. I won’t ever draw a weapon on you again._ The blackout-induced misunderstanding that had driven him to corner her with his sidearm drawn, dredging up her memory of Eagle’s attempt to kill her. “I promised you,” he said out loud, voice broken with regret. “I promised you I would never do that again, and now you’re asking me to break that promise.”

“Yes. I am. If this happens, it’ll be me and Eagle all over again. Only I’ll take Eagle’s place, and our son will take mine.” A memory… no… a vision of a possible future, of Rayne bringing the blade of her lightsaber to Yadier’s throat…

 _“Stop it!”_ Din was somewhere between shouting and crying, trying to pull her hands away from his head. “Please, I-”

 _“Don’t let it happen!”_ Rayne was somewhere between begging and crying. “Please…”

“Okay,” he finally yielded. How many people had he killed with no questions asked? How many people had he killed only because he’d been paid to do so? And now… the woman who was the mother of his son, the woman who had quite literally given her life for his family, was begging him to kill her if the ultimate consequence of her return to life came to pass. The cruelty of the exchange threatened to crush his heart. The unfairness of it all. She had sacrificed everything, and the reward she may get would be the dissolution of her soul, a metamorphosis into a monster. The price he would pay for her sacrifice was the responsibility of extinguishing the monster before it could destroy everything they had worked so hard for.

He understood the necessity of it. He understood her fear.

But he wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger. God help him, of all the times he’d done it, of all the times he’d pulled the trigger and ended a life without a second thought, he wasn’t sure he could do it against her, even at her request.

Still, he could take the responsibility of getting it done.

“I promise,” he said, bringing her head to his shoulder, breathing in the pineapple scent of her hair. “I promise you I won’t let it happen. I promise you I won’t let you hurt our son. I promise I will find a way to end your life as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

“Thank you,” she breathed into his skin.

They stayed like that for a long time as she continued to tremble, and he felt hot tears roll down his back. They both knew it was just the withdrawal. Both knew what to expect, Rayne from her own previous experience, Din from what Cara had told him of hers. He would give her whatever she wanted, whatever else she asked of him. He owed her that much, and more.

And when she wanted him, he gave himself up to her, understanding the tears and shaking for what they were, knowing to take his cues instead from her hands and her lips, even if it was all so unsettling. They took their time, sometimes moving, sometimes stilling all together, pausing to contemplate the links between them, his flesh in hers, her mind in his. When release finally claimed them, the rush of endorphins quelled her shaking and dried her tears.

They lay down. Exhausted. Spent. She curled back into him and he draped his arm over her shoulder. The thought of _too good to be true_ only made it half-way through his mind before he realized that wasn’t it at all. Yes, they had gotten very lucky. But heavy consequences and the uncertainty of whether they would even be allowed to remain a family still hung over them. 

One step at a time. He allowed himself to enjoy this one moment as it was.

Pineapple. He had never noticed Rayne ever smelling like anything in particular before. But now, even after showering and brushing her teeth, she smelled and tasted like the pineapple of high-grade bacta. He considered himself lucky in that he was quite fond of pineapple, but the association would be a weird one if it persisted; if the flesh of one on his tongue would remind him of the other. He supposed much worse associations could be made; god knew he smelled like blood and dirt half the time and couldn’t imagine what odors Rayne associated with him. He’d grown so used to the smells of beskar, leather, and wool that he no longer noticed them, and it didn’t occur to him that those were the things that brought him to mind for her.

He breathed her in. Pineapple. Sweet and tart on his lips. Something to be eaten on a beach with the sun beating down on them after a long swim as thoughts of Methuselah drifted through his mind, camped out by the lake at the edge of the forest.

It all disintegrated to grains of sand as sleep claimed him.

* * *

Rayne woke up alone, late-morning sunlight flooding the bedroom.

If anything, she was the early riser and Din was the night owl. Getting back up after she had fallen asleep at night was not unusual for him, sometimes needing a little more time to wind down, needing a little more alone time after years of solitude. Usually he would just read, getting himself up-to-speed on their next destination, or sometimes tend to his gear. That meant he was the one to sleep in on the mornings following his late nights while Rayne got up.

So it was with a fair amount of confusion that she woke up to an empty bed for the first time since their first night together.

A note on the nightstand caught her attention: _Took Yadier to get breakfast to bring back. Stay in bed if you’re tired. Be back soon_.

She… felt pretty ok, all things considered. Bacta was glorious stuff, and bacta tanks were glorious things, withdrawal aside. Still, it seemed wise to catch more sleep if she could, so she slid back under the covers, not sure if she would actually fall back to sleep.

She woke up to a light weight dropping onto the bed, followed by a giggle and a stream of babbled nonsense. She opened her eyes and smiled at her son as he crawled the rest of the way across the mattress and patted her face. “Good morning to you too, _ad’ika_.”

“Hey…” Din’s voice was soft as he sat next to her on the edge of the bed, taking his glove off to run a finger along her jaw. She took his hand in hers and brought his fingertips to her lips. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not bad, actually.” She curled his fingers under her chin. “Thank you for… last night. I know that was weird.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Which part?”

“All of it.” She kissed his fingertips again. “Seems like you wrote something about breakfast?”

“I did. It’s out in the main room, if you’re up for it. I can bring it in if you’re not.”

“I’m ready to get up.” She swung her legs out and turned to pick up Yadier before standing, but he reached out a hand to stop her.

“Hang on. Watch…” He walked over to the door and turned his head back to the bed, looking at Yadier. “ _Olaror_.” _Come on_.

With a tiny growl of effort, the baby crawled to the edge of the bed, and then leapt off of it, landing with a light thump next to Din, sticking the landing on his feet without so much as a bobble.

Rayne gave him a knowing smile, recalling a demonstration Master Yoda once provided to her class, a lesson on not judging opponents by their size. Even back then, she was taller than the legendary Master, even if not by much, and had been astonished at the unnatural way he moved, jumping and twirling, changing direction in mid-air, his lightsaber nothing but a blur as he sparred with one of the other Masters. She had wondered if Yadier would ever be capable of the same kind of movement, and this was promising.

“He’s been jumpy all morning,” Din said.

“He likes it here.”

Din nodded. “He does.”

* * *

Din walked back to the spaceport with Cara so she could pick up a few of her things from the Razor Crest before taking the daily transport shuttle to Jedha, then back to Nevarro. Jedha, with its many Jedi sympathizers, was the ideal gateway for Genesaria, and all traffic and trade going to or from Genesaria went through secret ports there. Jedha trade officials, having only a vague idea of the secret world they were protecting, were happy to turn a blind eye in service to the larger power of the Force.

They walked in companionable silence for much of it. The weather was nice; sunny, with a warm, dry breeze. The city, though small, appeared lovely by all accounts. High-rises tall enough to be inspiring but not overwhelming housed ground-floor retail of all sorts of restaurants, shops, and services, shot through with little parks and greenspaces here and there, populated by small children and their caretakers. They passed by temples of several different religions, some grand, some humble.

Cara told Din all she had learned from her new Force-sensitive friend; about half of the population was Force-sensitive; a quarter of those were surviving Jedi, either having become disillusioned with the Order and having left before Order 66, or were survivors of the Purge. The other three-quarters had never made their way to the Temple at Coruscant in their youth, the Purge had happened before they had their chance, dodging the cosmic bullet of Imperial genocide, descendants who had inherited the gift, or decedents of the non-sensitives who, unsurprisingly, sometimes inherited the gift, perhaps long-dormant in their family bloodlines. Cara’s friend was among the group that had dodged the bullet, a cargo ship pilot who kept plugging in the coordinates for this place into his navicomp by mistake and having to clear them out, then one day said “screw it,” went to where they led, and decided to stay. The other half of the population were friends and family of the Force-sensitives who made their way here or decedents of either who did not inherit the gift.

A multi-species, multi-creed world that was as welcoming as it was guarded; new Force-sensitive arrivals were generally granted asylum baring any obvious Dark Side red flags, but all new non-sensitive companion arrivals were thoroughly vetted. The criteria were not standardized; people were rejected for a variety of reasons, and it happened often enough that admission was far from a sure thing.

Leave it to Cara to actually complete her recon while getting laid at the same time.

“What do you think my chances of getting to stay are?” he asked.

She blew out a sigh between pursed lips. “Damned if I know. Crime rate is low, here. I don’t think they have much use for bounty hunters and mercenaries.”

 _I don’t belong here_. He remembered forcing the words through his teeth to Omera, knowing Sorgan had no use for someone who was good for nothing but hunting and killing people once the raiders had been dealt with. It came up again on Coruscant when Rayne had first brought up the possibility of fitting in with their son’s people, and then again at Takodana. He wondered if he would have to say the same words to Rayne upon exile from this place. _I don’t belong here_. Once again, he felt the fissures of his forfeit soul crack and deepen, the fissures between the part that wanted to love, the part that wanted to destroy, and the part that wanted to run away. The power of the Force at Takodana made those fissures apparent to him, and the power of the Force at this place was doing the same once more.

He shook his head, knowing today wasn’t the day he would make any headway with it. He decided to pry at Cara’s motivations to distract himself. “Why are you leaving so soon after making friends so quickly?”

“Like I said, I don’t think they have much use for bounty hunters and mercenaries here. Sparring at the gym only takes me so far. Nevarro is a good mix of laying low and keeping busy. I may still come back to visit, though.” She gave him a smile and a wink.

They made it to the Crest, and she gathered her things as he packed the repeater gun in its case so she could get it through with the cargo on her transport back. When she realized he meant to give it to her, she shook her head. “Mando… Din… you already paid me for the job. This one and the last one. You bought my ticket back. We’re square.”

Well, really, the funding had come from Rayne, but that was beside the point. “Consider it a down payment on another job.”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled. “What’s that?”

He paused, and she watched his shoulders rise and fall with the sigh he breathed in and let out. “Rayne’s prognosis. There’s a decent chance the Dark Side will get her.” Another pause, and Cara waited through it. “She made me promise to kill her if that came to pass.”

Cara’s eyes never left the T-visor of his helmet, remembering the ghost-grip around her throat as his son had choked her, understanding the dangers of the Dark Side, understanding his meaning with perfect clarity. “You want me to pull the trigger if you can’t.”

“Yes.”

She knew this wasn’t like him. Knew he wasn’t one to ask others to do… things like _this_. Anyone else would have called him a coward, but she knew better. “You love her, don’t you?”

For a moment, he was silent. Frozen. Unreadable. She knew she’d hit a nerve.

“I…” Din started, then stopped. Then started again. “I promised her before that I wouldn’t draw a weapon on her. I’d rather not break it.”

Cara wondered what had transpired that led to the necessity of him making such a promise, betting there was an _again_ somewhere that he’d left out in those words. “Nevarro is four days away. What if I don’t make it back in time?”

“This kind of thing doesn’t happen over night. I know the symptoms. I should see it coming. I plan to separate her and Yadier. Get her on the Crest. Bring her to you. Try to talk her down on the way, shove her in carbonite if that fails. It’ll probably take both of us to make it work anyway. But you need to be the one who pulls the trigger.”

“You really thought this through.”

“I have.”

She tipped her chin up. “I’ll do it. I’ll make it quick. Painless as possible.”

“I know you will.”

“What about Yadier?” His prognosis was less dire, but it was still a possibility.

Din shook his head. “I can’t. It’ll have to be you.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Rayne walked with Luc as the Rodian gave her a tour of the Jedi temple at the heart of the city, Yadier floating between them in his pod. Much smaller than the temple at Coruscant, it still held an air of reverence, still evoked the spirit of a holy place, and the presence of the Force within its walls was unmistakable.

Not _quite_ home, but close.

Very close.

Yadier was, predictably, fascinated, eyes huge and round, taking it all in, his mouth a small O of awe. Rayne wondered how much more of it he could sense than she. If, like how UV-perceiving insects were able to see so much more to flowers than humans, could he see additional, invisible layers? Could he hear inaudible voices? Could he feel untouchable pressures? She wanted so much to ask him, wanted so much for him to be able to tell her, and hoped that she would live long enough for these opportunities to someday come to fruition.

“The Jedi here don’t practice as an Order per se,” Luc continued. “This place serves for the survivors to observe however they wish, but Force-sensitives are not trained in the old ways of the Knights. They and their families come here to learn how to manage their abilities in a safe manner. We forbid the use of the Force to cause harm, and children are taught how to treat others who do not possess these gifts with fairness.”

“How well has that worked?”

“Ha! Not with perfection,” Luc admitted. “But! Well enough. We keep careful records of aggression on both Force-sensitives and non-sensitives, and rates have remained level for millennia. We are always looking for ways to improve, but understand that we will never reach perfection.”

“So… no Masters. No Padawans. No Gathering for Younglings.”

“Masters! Yes. Surviving Knights, yes. The rest, no.”

“So the only alternative for those who want to become Jedi is to go to Skywalker.”

“Ah, yes. Correct.”

Rayne frowned.

“This troubles you,” Luc said.

“The only alternative for those who want to become Jedi is to go to the son of the guy who slaughtered Younglings and became Darth Vader. The guy who butchered _billions_ throughout the galaxy.”

“Ah, heh. Yes. Correct.”

“And no one sees a problem with that?”

“The Masters here all lost their Padawans three and a half decades ago. They recognized that Anakin Skywalker’s failures were the failures of the old Order. They recognize the hubris of the old Order and have been reluctant to recreate its failures.”

“The old Order had its faults for sure,” Rayne said. “And I admit that I reject a lot of what I learned there. But I don’t understand abandoning it all together. Surely there’s something worth salvaging.”

“In that, you and the Council disagree.”

Rayne sighed, admitting to herself that she had much to learn on this matter before she could pursue it further.

They reached the end of the long, vaulted, high-ceilinged hallway they had been walking down, facing a tall set of wooden double-doors, worked with intricate carvings that Rayne found vaguely familiar. Yadier scooted forward in his pod, eyes focused on the doors, senses focused on what lay behind them, ears pricked and twitching.

“Are you ready to meet the Council?” Luc asked.

Rayne looked at her son and smiled. “I think so.”

The doors opened of their own accord, swinging out into the hall, and the three of them went through.

The Council chamber here, much like the one in the temple at Coruscant, was small and humble, simple seats arranged in a circle.

Rayne froze.

The ten Council Masters were standing as a group in the middle of the circle, facing the newcomers. Eight of the ten of them were Yadier’s species.

Eight living ghosts of the ancient Grand Master from her childhood.

Recovering, she forced one foot in front of the other, and led her son to them.

Luc motioned to the one at the front of the group. “May I introduce Master Yandia.”

“Greetings, Rayne Rollins. A long journey to us, you have had.” The small green Master’s gravelly-but-kind voice was so much like Yoda’s that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

She bowed her head. “My son’s father’s journey was much longer.”

Yandia gave a warm chuckle, a sound so familiar that it made her shiver. “Long before you met the Mandalorian, your journey began.”

She inclined her head to Yadier. “Then my son’s journey was even longer.”

“Hm! Correct, in that you are.” He turned to Yadier’s pod and Force-lowered it so they could look each other in the eye. Yadi’s face lit up and a grin nearly split him in half as he let out a delighted squeal, reaching out with both hands. Yandia looked back up to Rayne. “Hold your son, may I?”

“Please do.”

Yadier was Force-lifted out of the pod and brought into Yandia’s arms, and the other seven gathered around. _Gratitude_. A sense of overwhelming gratitude flooded her mind as they probed her son with the gentle reaches of their minds, charmed with his smile, captivated by the light in his eyes, adoring the alertness of his ears, and most of all, relieved by the happiness in his heart.

Their lost son was finally home.

For twenty minutes, they surrounded him in a silent reverie, exchanging eye contact and unspoken conversations, passing him around. He responded with giggles and trills, tears of joy streaming down his face, enjoying the attention from faces that looked so much more like his own, minds that operated so much more like his own. When they had their fill, they placed him back in his pod, and Yandia turned once more to Rayne.

“Bestowed great care you and the Mandalorian have on him. Loves you both very much, he does. Thank you enough, we cannot.”

“The Mandalorian and I love him as well. We have come to see him as our own son and adopted him as such according to the Mandalorian’s custom. We would very much appreciate the honor of remaining here with him as his parents.”

Yandia smiled. “As a Jedi survivor, you are welcome to stay. You have proven your worth as Yadier’s mother, and this honor we grant you with joy.”

Rayne’s heart hammered in her chest. “And the Mandalorian?”

Yandia’s ears flattened just a bit. “We will begin that deliberation tomorrow, if you are feeling well enough for it?”

“I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to future self: When sending your characters to a new world, DON’T FORGET TO BUILD THE WORLD. 
> 
> catsANDistanbul commented back in Chapter 9 about how Din never gets to know what Rayne smells like because of the helmet, and I admitted that I simply couldn’t think of what she would smell like. Some research on bacta at Wookieepedia revealed that it smells like pineapple, so I decided to devote some time to that. (Confession: my sense of smell is so poor that I have my spouse check the milk every now and then so I don’t poison myself. I’ve always been this way, so it’s difficult for me to write about a sense that I don’t actually experience very well.)
> 
> Catlorde – the hairdryer came back! 
> 
> Next chapter may get split in two… we’ll see!
> 
> Stay healthy and safe, all.


	16. The Proving Grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rayne and Din are tested.
> 
> Din breaks his promise.

_Through this world I’ve stumbled  
So many times betrayed  
Trying to find an honest word  
To find the truth enslaved  
Oh you speak to me in riddles and  
You speak to me in rhymes  
My body aches to breathe your breath  
Your words keep me alive_

Sarah McLachlan, [Possession](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itydwcyywBc)

* * *

Din sat on the edge of the bunk in the hold of the Razor Crest, elbows on his knees, helmeted head in his hands. Trembling with tension.

He’d seen Cara off at the spaceport and then returned to the ship, meaning to pack up more of their things and then catch a speeder back to their place. He’d collected Rayne and Yadier’s belongings easily enough, but when he’d gotten to his own stuff, he’d become indecisive. Was he staying or not? Should he bring most of his non-weapons stuff or just a few changes of clothes?

Cara’s words haunted him.

_You love her, don’t you?_

He hadn’t answered. He’d sidestepped completely. Because what was the point? What was the point when they would throw him out anyway? Even making the promise to Rayne that he would end her life if she turned to the Dark Side was ridiculous in its optimism because it assumed he would be allowed to stay and be in the position to fulfill it. That path was forked, but both options led to dead ends. He would either be forced to leave, or forced to bring her life to a violent end.

He didn’t dare let himself look at the third path. The one where he was allowed to stay and his Jedi managed to stave off the Dark Side. It seemed so unlikely compared to the other possibilities. Too good to be true. Daring to want such a thing only to lose it would shatter him.

He had watched her die once already. He remembered with crystal clarity the way it had gutted him. Emptied him out. He remembered drawing his blade on himself, not for the first time, not even for the second, but for the first time with lethal intent.

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t survive it a second time around.

He really was a coward. _Hut’uun_. It rang in his head, over and over.

He should just leave right now. Save everyone the time. Release Rayne from him so she could find a father for their son who could handle it. Send Rayne and Yadier their things, get the hell off this planet, and forget that this last year of his life had ever happened.

The comlink on his vambrace chirped. The code indicated that Rayne was on the other end. “Hey.”

“Hey. Everything ok?” Rayne’s voice signaled a slight edge of concern. Looking at the time at the lower left corner of his HUD, he realized how late he was.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t _really_ a lie. On a scale of _One_ to _I watched you die_ , he figured _You’re better off without me_ didn’t quite rank half-way up. “Just… lost track of time.”

She paused for a beat, as if to tell him in her own silent way that she knew he was full of it, but would take mercy on him, regardless. “Okay. Do you want us to wait for you to get dinner?”

“No. Go ahead without me.” _Get used to it_.

“Want me to bring you anything back?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Din…”

“Yes?”

“You’re at the Crest right now?”

“Yes.”

“… You’re coming back, right?”

 _Goddammit, Rayne_. He considered asking if that was what she wanted, but she’d made that plain enough with the way she’d asked it. God knew why. “Yes.” The silence stretched for a bit, and then he added, “Don’t wait up.”

“We all need to be at the Temple tomorrow morning.”

That was news. “Okay. I’ll be home tonight. Get some rest.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He went for a walk.

He wandered back towards the city, no particular destination in mind, just wanting to lose himself in an unfamiliar place, fade into anonymity inasmuch as a Mandalorian could in a city seemingly full of every kind of being _except_ Mandos. Humans, Chargrians, Kubaz, Devaronians, Twi’leks, Bothans, Rodians, even a couple Wookies. But no other beskar-clad souls. In that, Genesaria was just like every place else.

Din Djarin was, and always would be, alone in this galaxy.

He should’ve been used to it by now.

So why did it hurt so much lately?

He stopped in his tracks. His halt was so abrupt that a Devaronian walked right into him and almost knocked him over.

“Whoops! Sorry about that. You alright?” The large horned man held Din upright by the elbow.

Din was so stunned at being treated so politely by a Devaronian that he couldn’t bring any words.

“Buddy? You ok?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry.” Din pulled back, chiding himself both for his clumsiness and his racism, knowing he couldn’t let the Devaronian he’d run into on Ran’s crew represent an entire people. “It was my fault.”

The Devaronian nodded and went on his way, and Din turned back to look at what had brought him to such a standstill.

A restaurant with Mandalorian script on the storefront. _“Jat’skraan.”_ The translation was printed below in Basic: “Good Eats.”

Din stood in the middle of the sidewalk, motionless. Dumbfounded. Wondering if he really had finally lost his goddamned mind.

A Mandalorian restaurant? Where… people ate Mandalorian food… in public? With other people?

_What madness was this?_

Helpless, Din found himself drawn to the door, found himself opening it, found himself walking in.

People were sitting together at tables, mostly human, but a smattering of others. No one was wearing armor. No helmets. They gave him only a cursory look before returning to their food and conversations.

He drifted to the bar and slid into an empty seat at the end, not knowing what else to do with himself. Meals at the coverts were served in a hybrid of cafeteria/takeout style. You scooped what you wanted into a box and took it back to your room to eat alone. He’d never found any particular joy in eating it. Nothing like the meals his parents would make when he was a kid, even if those memories were little more than ghosts in his mind. But here, he could smell a variety of savory spices, a palate that was barely hinted at by covert food.

“I didn’t expect to see you in here so soon.”

Din’s wandering attention was brought to a woman approaching him from behind the bar clad in leather clothes and a beskar helmet, the latter of which she lifted from her head as she reached him. Din flinched, turning his head away as she completed the motion, only to hear her laugh.

“Someone’s still riding the Death Watch cart, eh Mando?”

Maz’s words floated back to him. _Expect to be challenged by those you seek_. He turned back to the bartender with slow caution. She was maybe ten years his senior, dark red curls of hair fading to grey, kind brown eyes looking at him from a weathered face. He placed his hands on the bar so they were in clear view, a signal that he was not drawing a weapon at present, a signal of momentary peace. “Maybe _still being dragged_ is a closer description.”

The barkeeper tipped her head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. I’m Ranni. I suppose you still go by Mando?”

“I do. You were expecting me?”

“You’ve had a cult following on this planet since the Imps put a public bounty on you for stealing the Lost Son.”

A sluggish feeling of mortification settled over him. “People here know who I am?” His voice was barely audible over the background conversations.

“‘Fraid so. You’ve been known by name since Gideon started spewing it a few months ago.”

“He won’t be spewing anything anymore.”

“So that _was_ your work on Ilum?” Her voice rang with admiration.

“I had help. A lot of help.” He sighed. “News travels fast here, then.”

“Indeed it does.”

“Are there other Mandalorians here?”

“A few, though you won’t recognize them. They’re mostly of the New Mandalorian variety. Never wore armor. Never will.”

“And you?”

Ranni smiled. “This was my great grandmother’s helmet. Mandalore used to be known for its incredible cuisine, and she was one of Mandalore’s greatest chefs. When even warriors were permitted to remove their helmets in public. Could _eat_ in public. Hell, most of the Death Watch elite walked bare-faced until almost the very end. Do a search on Gar Saxon and Pre Vizsla and you’ll easily find pictures of their faces. Only the moon-based cells were extremist enough to adopt the _dar’manda_ helmet rules. Take one guess about what happened to the Mandalorian restaurant industry when those assholes took over the system.”

Din drew a finger across his throat.

“Exactly. Our food was just as much a part of our culture as our armor. And food is _meant_ to be eaten together. It’s _meant_ to be communal. Take the community out of the food, and you take away all of the joy of it. You take away all of the pride in it. The food turns to crap. Every culture is defined, in part, by food. But us? Not anymore. We’re nothing more than faceless helmets. I only wear mine to cook with because it’s the only way I keep from getting _Tiingilar_ spice up my damn nose.”

Din gave a slow nod. It all lined up with what he had read so far. The rules of his upbringing, the _Resol’nare_ , twisted as a means of oppression. Any questioning answered only with _This is the Way_. The emptiest non-answer there ever was. The vaguest of vague platitudes.

“So,” Ranni continued. “I assume you’re still doing takeout?”

“I’m afraid so. But…” He swallowed. “I appreciate the history lesson. Thank you.”

She smiled at the honesty of his tone. “What can I get you, then?”

“You mentioned _Tiingilar_ …” 

She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, honey, you can’t handle that. Let’s just start you off with some roast shatual.”

“I’m…” Din sighed. “… Trying to knock a blood-pressure issue down…”

“Ah. Then I’ll throw in some uj cake and a bottle of shig. I’ll have it out in a bit.”

Ranni returned with a bag a few minutes later, refusing to tell him what he owed, saying it was on the house. He left his best guess as to its worth in New Republic credits on the bar anyway, hoping they would spend on this world, and walked back to the Razor Crest.

He sat at the table in the hold, removed his helmet, and ate his first true traditional Mandalorian meal.

Alone.

It was delicious. The sliced meat of the shatual perfectly cooked and spiced, the uj cake sweet and nutty, the shig washing it all down.

When he was done, he rested his head in his hands, elbows on the table, feeling the shig tea work its way through him, calming him down, allowing his mind to focus.

He finished packing up his things, choosing a few changes of clothes, his book tablet, and his shower kit. He would leave the Amban on the Crest; few people here were openly armed, and he had yet to see anyone with a long gun. The pulse rifle would only be provocative in a way he didn’t want. He opened the weapons locker, pulled the Darksaber from its hook, and considered it. The Jedi wore their sabers openly here, more as a symbolic allowance than anything else. He clipped the Darksaber to his belt at the small of his back. Concealed, but handy. He hailed a speeder, loaded his family’s things in the back, and watched the city pass him by as he glided to their temporary home. He managed getting everything up in one trip. A quick peek into Yadier’s room found the baby snoring away. He took his meds, brushed his teeth, shaved, and showered. And when he slid into bed behind Rayne, she remained asleep, giving little more than a contented sigh as he kissed the back of her neck and spooned himself around her.

She was sleeping well, then. No apparent restlessness for what might happen tomorrow.

He dared to allow himself to take that as a good sign and closed his eyes.

He could lose it all. But that’s what it meant to have a family with Jedi. That was the reality he had to face. And if he was allowed to stay, he would stand with her and face it. If he wasn’t strong enough to face it, who was? He was _not_ a coward. He was a _Mandalorian_.

He wasn’t a coward. He was just… afraid. They weren’t the same thing. He would do the same thing with this fear that he’d done with the others. Manage it. Look it in the face and figure out how to deal with it.

“I want this to work.” His lips formed the words in silence against the back of her neck.

“I…” The next words hung on him, even in silence. “I want this to work,” he repeated, instead.

He drifted to sleep and was once more reminded of pineapple as he breathed her in.

* * *

The clan of Rollins-Djarin walked to the Jedi temple the next morning, Yadier leading the way as he hopped and skipped down the sidewalk.

Din let out a miserable-sounding sigh.

He’d been melancholy all morning, telling Rayne what he’d learned from Cara about the vetting of non-Force-sensitive new arrivals here, along with her assessment of Genesaria’s need, or lack thereof, for people like her and Din.

He didn’t say anything about dinner. That he needed more time to process the existential experience of a Mandalorian restaurant seemed ridiculous, but, here he was.

Rayne was slightly more hopeful about his chances, but was anxious nonetheless. Hearing his sigh, she brushed the back of her hand along the back of his, glancing up at the helmet that remained pointed straight ahead with an unasked question.

“We’re sending our son to his first day of school and he doesn’t even have any shoes.” His tone was petulant.

Rayne blew out a sigh of relief. Of all the things to worry about, this didn’t even make her list. But she understood that Din lacked the experience she had with this sort of thing. “Grand Master Yoda never wore shoes. I don’t think any of the Council members of his species were wearing any yesterday, either. I don’t think shoes are a thing for them. Don’t worry about it.”

He let out another sigh, trying to calm himself down. “Okay.”

They arrived at the Jedi temple and Yadier led the way to the classroom for Force-sensitive preschool, remembering the route from their tour the day before. He brought his hands together in a soft clap, over and over, ears pricked, eyes round and eager, bouncing with every step.

The door was still open by the time they got there, and a Twi’lek woman greeted them. “Yadier, Jedi Rayne, Mandalorian. My name is Ona. Welcome.”

Din watched as Rayne tipped her head and shoulders in a slight bow, eyes downcast, then straightened to regain eye contact, and followed suit himself. He felt his gut tighten at the idea of his son being taught by a Twi’lek, but forced himself to stomp it down. He’d had profoundly bad experiences with members of at least ten different species in this galaxy at some point in his life, several of which were represented at Genesaria. He _had_ to get over it. Bigotry was bad enough on its own, but it would most certainly not serve him well here.

“Thank you, Ona,” Rayne replied. She looked down to see Yadier at the threshold, bouncing in place, and he turned up to face her, arms upraised. Knowing this was the sign for _one last hug before I venture forth_ , she picked him up and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. She offered him to Din, who took him in turn and brought is forehead to his son’s.

“Be good. Make friends. Have fun. Learn a lot.” He murmured the words and Yadier giggled as Din turned his head to and fro over him. He set his son back to the ground, and the baby took off running into the group of small children playing a game in a circle. They made room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ona turned to the boy’s parents. “I think he’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you,” Rayne said again.

They did their little bows, and left.

Din followed Rayne up to a set of double-doors that opened onto a large hall that comfortably held the fifty people waiting for them, sunlight streaming through arched stained-glass windows. They were standing in no particular formation, and Rayne and Din were led to the center of the group.

Fifty Force-sensitives. Castaway Jedi. Purge survivors. Members of Yadier’s people. Din found himself initially surprised by their appearance, their diminutive height speaking nothing of their power. They apparently did not retain their adorableness in old age. They weren’t… ugly, per se, but they were by no means attractive. The wrinkly skin and enormous ears were a bit less enduring without the disproportionately huge dark eyes to balance it all out.

Yandia, as the voice of the Council, acknowledged Din. “Welcome, Mandalorian. We thank you for returning our Lost Son to us.”

Din repeated the little bow he’d performed a few minutes earlier. It appeared to be the correct response, as Yandia returned it and took a seat on a mat on the floor. He motioned to another mat in front of him, and Rayne took her place to kneel. Not knowing where else to go, Din stood to the side.

A hush fell over the hall.

Yandia bowed his head and spoke. “Not the name you had at the Jedi temple at Coruscant, the name you use now.”

“No. I was on my own evading the Purge. I couldn’t use my name.”

“Over the Purge is. Safe, you are here. Your name we would hear.”

She hesitated, casting a brief glance in Din’s direction. “I’ve only said it once in the last thirty-four years.” When she told Hayes, the night she married him. He had honored her request to never speak it, taking it with him to the cold grave of outer space.

“And now you must say it once again.” Yandia cast a glance in Din’s direction as well. “Before all of those present beside you.”

She took a breath, held it, and let it out. “Rez. Rez Rohan.”

One of the Council members was scrolling through a tablet, found what she was looking for, and pronounced, “Rez Rohan of Onderon.”

Din stood in silence, committing her name to memory, knowing he may never hear it again beyond these walls.

“Your lightsaber, please.” Yandia held out his hands. Rayne unclipped it from her belt and placed it in his grasp. He ignited the blade, gazed at the yellow light, turned it once, twice, and then deactivated it.

“Jedi Rez was a member of the final Gathering class at Ilum at the age of ten,” The Councilmember with the tablet said. “She was the last of the group to emerge from the cave.”

Rayne closed her eyes. They were going to unearth every single one of her flaws for all to see. The late bloomer. The one who was neither all that communal with the Force, nor all that great of a fighter. The one who hadn’t even had a Master in mind for when she got back from Ilum, for when she would become a Padawan, only she never got the chance.

Instead, Yandia’s response was carried by the kindness in his voice. “Often the last to emerge from the cave, were Sentinels. Over-think things, they tend to do.” He gave her a warm smile. “Built under Professor Huyang’s supervision, you lightsaber was not.”

“No. We were on our way back on the Crucible and he only had enough time to allow us to select our materials. We were ordered to jump back to Coruscant immediately. We weren’t told why but…” Rayne’s words stumbled. “They thought we would be safer at the Temple.”

Yandia bowed his head. “In that, they were incorrect. At what age were you, when you completed your lightsaber?”

“Eighteen.”

“Mmm.” The Council leader held the hilt in his hands, gazing at it. “An unconventional design, it is. Cartusian whalebone inlay. An unusual choice. Modified for greater stability, the emitter matrix is.” He paused, contemplating it further. “The last kyber crystal to emerge from the Ilum temple, this lightsaber houses.” He offered it back to her, and she accepted it, clipping it back to her belt. “Truly sacred the weapon you created is.”

Din swallowed. For a man who was raised in a religion that worshiped weapons, it was almost too much to hear.

Many in the hall were not so easily impressed.

“Nearly four and a half decades she has lived. Yet endured her rite of passage as a knight she has not,” said one.

“Fell the Republic did before she had the chance,” said another.

“Little used her powers are,” said a third.

“Clumsy she is,” said a fourth.

The dissenting murmurs continued.

Din watched as Rayne remained kneeling at the center of it all, head bowed. Listened as they denounced her. Seethed as they made it perfectly clear that they had no idea what she was capable of or how much she had done in the face of having been given so little.

“The powers of her mind I wish to see,” said Yandia.

Din turned toward his voice, a bubble of hope in this sea of despair.

“A rite of passage do you wish?” proposed another.

“A chance to prove herself, yes,” Yandia responded. “Join her, the Mandalorian will.”

In unison, they turned their faces to him. Understanding what was being asked… demanded?... of him, he walked to the center of the floor as Yandia vacated his mat, and knelt before Rayne, ignoring the protests from his knees, facing her. “Hey,” he took her hands in his. “Look at me.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze through the visor with her own.

Her eyes were blazing.

The blue of her eyes reflecting the steel glint of his beskar.

 _Oh, you are so ready for this_. He pushed his thoughts towards her. _Show them. Show them your strength. Show them what happens when an orphaned Jedi is found by a Mandalorian._

Ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth pulled into a hint of a smile.

The others gathered around them, forming a tight circle. His breath hitched as they raised their hands and bowed their heads.

And then he felt it.

He felt his armor thrum all over him, reacting to the Force, the beskar shedding the buildup of it all around him. But they were at close range, and they would have their way with him.

Unless she could protect him.

The procedure of the test was suddenly clear as his hands let go of hers, unbidden, and rose to the bottom edge of his helmet. “Um… Rayne…”

“I know…” she whispered.

The Force fell away from him almost as suddenly as it had come, and his hands were free. He reached for her once more when she twitched her head in a motion of negation. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered again.

 _He wants the helmet off_ … A voice drifted in her mind. _He wants this… Let us give it to him_ … Other voices joined it.

 _No_ … she replied. _Not like this_ …

He watched as her gaze lost focus in a thousand-mile stare, looking straight through him, and he realized she was fighting all of them off, all fifty of them, at close range, at this instant. Fending off their attack on him, their only intention of using his own hands against himself to remove his helmet.

She was the only thing standing between him and fifty Jedi bent on making him break his Creed. A Creed that he was perilously close to breaking on his own, and her words about the ease of making someone do something they had been holding off on, during her demonstration at the edge of the lake on Methuselah, rang like a shot in his head.

_You want the helmet off… you want to see his face… you want to see his eyes…_

He stilled himself. Allowed her to focus. Watched as her breath came in long, steady draws. Watched as the lids of her eyes fell in a slow blink every ten seconds. Watched as sweat broke out on her face, her neck, her chest, her arms. Three minutes passed as he watched time tick away on his HUD. _C’mon Rayne, you’ve got this_.

 _You are already dar’manda… show her who you really are… stop being a coward and show her your face_ …

Five minutes passed, and he felt the pinpricks of the Force along the backs of his hands. Her fingers twitched against it, the muscles of her jaw bulged under the strain. He did all he could to bolster her. _Strong. You’re so strong. Show them how strong you are_. He had no idea if it was helping. Had no idea if she could hear.

_Your son… think of your son… he deserves to see the face of his father…_

At seven minutes, his hands fisted and rose half-way up his chest. A small choking sound escaped her throat, but that was all. He fought them off as much as he could, fought to bring his hands back to his knees, but he might as well have been pushing against the surface of the planet itself. When his hands lowered, they were under her power. Her breath was heavy now, her hair was wet.

_He wants to give in… he wants to be free of it…_

_His terms_ … Rayne fought back. _It has to be on his terms…_

At ten minutes, he watched, horrified, as her left pupil suddenly dilated.

_Oh, no. Not again._

Her hold on him took an abrupt dive and his hands shot to his helmet. “Rayne!” He barked her name without meaning to, but she recovered, holding him in place, both of them shaking. Only then did he notice her blood pooling at the hollow of her throat, at the bottom of a trail leading from her left ear. Before he could get a good look at it, a wave of static glitched over his visor, dueling Forces taking their toll on his gear. Her left eye started to pull to the outside, wandering, but still, she held him.

“It’s not worth it,” he said to them, before he realized the words were even in his head. “Take the helmet. I give up. She’s had enough. Please-”

 _Shut up_. Her voice in his mind. Even as the light faded from her eyes, her mind still held fast. _I can’t fight them on my own. I need your help._ He watched her tremble before him and he redoubled his efforts, fighting to keep his hands fisted, to not grip the helmet.

 _Rayne_ …

 _Do you trust me?_ Even in his mind, her voice was strained.

_You know I do._

_Then fight it. Fight them. Fight them with me._

Din did what he did best. He fought. With his Jedi before him. With his Jedi all around him. Feeling the armor of her Force surrounding him, he held her up, and together they fought the assault. He chanced a look around, and they were all still there, all still with their hands raised, all against them.

But still, he felt her cracks under the strain.

Had she not yet proven herself? One against fifty of them? A non-stop onslaught? Did they not see what they were doing to her? “Stop,” he said. “You’re killing her.” His head swam as his hands tightened and loosened outside of his control. He turned his attention back to her in time to see her eyes roll back into her head and her lids close, but she remained upright. “Stop!” he said again, louder. Blood seeped out from the corners of her eyes and now he was well and truly alarmed, her hold on him still vice-grip tight, her breath coming in ragged draws.

And then her breath stopped.

_No. No no no. Not again._

She fell forward, into him, her blood splashing onto his beskar.

His world went black.

* * *

Rayne came to slowly, opening her eyes to a world that refused to focus, head pounding. Finding it too much, she gave up, closed her eyes, and sank back down.

“Hey…” Din’s voice was clear at least, her ears apparently working better than her eyes.

“Mmph.” It was the best she could do.

“Hey, come back.” His tone was gentle.

She felt his bare hand, absent of its glove, at the back of her neck. She tried again, forcing her eyes open, seeing a fuzzy black T against silver, the visor of his helmet inches from her face. She rolled into his touch, bringing her hands up to his, bringing the tips of his bare fingers to her lips. Her mouth was dry. Her hands were numb. “How long?”

“A few hours.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. “What happened?”

“You stood alone against fifty of the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy for ten minutes. You protected me with nothing but the power of your own mind.”

“And then I failed.”

“No,” he shook his head. “They didn’t expect you to last more than five seconds. They’ve tested a hundred others this way. You outdid eighty of them. And gave splitting headaches to ten of the fifty who tested you.”

“Is that a pass?”

“It is.” He ran a thumb along her eyebrow, relieved to see her pupils equally dilated. “ _Jedi Knight_ Rollins.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She closed her eyes. “Can’t be right. I was never more than a youngling. I was never even a Padawan.”

“They decided that thirty-five years of experience, building a lightsaber capable of defeating the Darksaber, crashing an Imperial starship into an Imperial base, and bringing their Lost Son home was worth something.”

She let out a long sigh. “Decent résumé, I guess.”

She sat up, finding herself on a couch in a small chamber with stone walls that still managed to be cozy, late-afternoon light filtering in through a window, Din sitting on the edge of the couch, facing her. “Are we still at the temple?”

“Yes,” Din handed her a bottle of water and she accepted it, downing half of it without managing to spill it or drown herself. “I was out for a few minutes, but they’d healed you by the time I woke up.” She turned to sit and pulled him back by the pauldron so she could lean against him. He obliged, settling an arm around her. “I don’t get it though. I thought I was the one getting tested today.”

“Oh, you were,” Rayne said, getting as comfortable as she could against the armor. “They wanted to see how you’d react to all of it. See if you trusted me.”

“Oh.” He ran it all back through his head. “How’d I do?”

“Well enough, I think,” she sighed.

“So that’s it?”

“No,” she said. “Not by a long shot.”

The thought of asking about her name crossed his mind, but he held back, thinking it best to let her bring it up when she was ready. If she ever got there.

They rested for another hour or so, and by the time she was ready to get up and around, it was time to pick Yadier up from school. They wandered the halls of the temple for a bit, finding their way, and were surprised to see Yandia waiting for them at the door of the classroom.

“Greetings Rayne. Mandalorian.”

Again, Din followed Rayne with the little head-dip of a bow.

“A satisfactory performance from you both, today.”

“Thank you,” Rayne replied.

 _Satisfactory?_ Din’s head spun a little. He thought back to the Armorer’s words of how his son would not survive Mandalorian training, but would be safe with the Jedi. _She had no idea_.

“Your lightsaber, please.” Once again, Yandia held his hand out for it, and Rayne passed it over. Din looked to her in confusion, but she could only shake her head and shrug.

The door opened and Ona greeted them with a smile, apparently not surprised that the Jedi Council leader was standing there with Rayne’s lightsaber in his hand. “Come in, please.”

They followed her to the front of the classroom full of Younglings, and Din’s heart melted a little at the sight of his son seated at the front, his face happy and hopeful, clearly having had a good day.

“We have a special treat today,” Ona started. The children tittered with excitement. “Yadier’s mother succeeded in her trials. Master Yandia thought it would be nice to have her Knighting Ceremony here before we ended our day.”

The class erupted in happy squeals and the clapping of tiny hands.

Rayne’s shoulders dropped as she fought back the tears that suddenly welled up.

She never thought this would happen. After decades of running. After decades of hiding what she was. After decades of the erasure of her people from the galaxy, forgotten by history. And she certainly never thought this would happen in front of her son and the man she had come to think of as her own.

Yandia stood at the front of the room and faced Rayne, igniting her saber. She took a knee before him, bowing her head. He brought the saber to each of her shoulders, and she heard the thrumming buzz of it in each ear, felt the heat of it on her skin.

“By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of Genesaria.”

He deactivated the saber and placed it on the floor before her, but she kept her head bowed and the room remained silent. Yandia looked up to Din and held out a hand. “Your vibroblade, please, Mandalorian. A Padawan braid our new knight does not possess, and too short her hair is to cut with a lightsaber.”

Din pulled his blade from his boot, pride welling in his chest, and handed it to the Jedi Master, hilt first. Yandia took it with a steady hand, took hold of one tight curl at the top of Rayne’s head, near the back, and sliced it off.

And thus, Rayne was the first Jedi in the history of the galaxy to be knighted with a Mandalorian blade.

Yandia returned Din’s blade, bound the curl with elastic, slipped it into his pocket, and offered Rayne’s lightsaber back to her. She accepted, and clipped it to her belt.

With that, Yandia bowed. “That is all. Thank you.”

The class erupted in cheers and Yadier toddled over to his mother, arms outstretched, squeaking _“Buir!”_ at the top of his lungs. Overwhelmed, she sat with him on the floor and held him, no longer able to hold her tears back. Din took a knee beside his family, brought his arms around them, and held them tight, oblivious to the celebration around them.

“My Jedi,” he whispered, not sure if she could hear him, not really caring. “My Jedi Knight.”

He whispered it again that night, when they were alone together in the dark, without the helmet between them. She brought her lips to his, warm and soft. And when they parted, she replied with a whisper of her own.

“My Mandalorian.”

* * *

They spent the next week settling in. Yadier made friends at school, thriving in an environment with others at his developmental level who shared his gifts, if not in magnitude, at least in kind. Rayne began her meditative training, her baseline level of Force resistance established at the trial. She scoped out the shipyards, getting a sense of what might be needed mechanic-wise. She also pondered the possibility of devoting herself full-time to design work, no longer needing the front of a legitimate business to back her public name. She had options.

In the afternoons, she and Din would do a bit of training in the courtyard at the temple. Rayne had found the training spheres of her youth, the hovering balls that shot low-level blasts. She would gather half a dozen and bring them out, Din tuning his blaster down so he could hit them without destroying them.

And then, they fought. They fought in the old way of the Jedi and Clone, the way they had on the Vibre. Sometimes him behind her, sometimes back-to-back, Rayne deflecting the shots of the training spheres with her lightsaber, Din picking them off with his blaster from his position of safety, his offense protected by her defense. They reveled in the growing harmony of their minds, the way she could almost share her precognition with him, the way he responded to it, taking the advantages she gave him.

Sometimes they drew a crowd.

And when, after they had drained the training spheres of all their charge, they turned to face each other, exhausted, breaths heavy, Din could only hope that Rayne knew his smile was as broad as hers as he held his hand out, and her hand met his in the upraised clasp of warriors.

God, this woman.

Some members of the crowd would clap, impressed with the display. Others were more reserved, arms folded.

One day, Din met with Luc, their liaison.

“You know about what happened at Ilum,” Din said.

“Ah! Yes! Quite the victory. You have our congratulations in eliminating such a well-organized Imperial remnant.”

“Gideon was far too well-equipped for a remnant and you know it.”

Luc gave the barest of a nod. “Perhaps.”

“The Empire, or some part of it, is coming back,” Din said. “The New Republic isn’t in any position to do anything about it. And you know that, too.”

Again, a slight nod. “Perhaps.”

“My family took out a Moff and his entire regiment. One Mandalorian. Two Force-sensitives. One Shocktrooper. Four of us against hundreds of them.” Din paused to let it sink in. “If we could raise that much hell, what could Genesaria do?”

“Heh, most are here because they fled a war or are the descendents of those who fled.”

“They fled a system that abandoned them when the Empire attacked it. They fled a way of life that collapsed in the face of the Dark Side. You’re telling me we can’t do better?”

“No, not necessarily. I’m telling you we haven’t considered it yet, and will not be eager to take it up.”

“How long do you think we’ll have that luxury?”

Luc gave a conciliatory shrug. “I will take your concerns to the Council.”

* * *

Din and Rayne walked the halls of the Jedi temple, having just dropped Yadier off at school, on their way to Rayne’s daily meditation practice.

“How are things going with it?” he asked, brushing the back of his hand against the back of hers.

“So far so good, I think,” she said. “My focus is getting better. I’m learning my weak points.”

“Any… symptoms?”

“No,” she said. She’d been a little restless for the last couple of nights, waking up with a little trouble getting back to sleep, but there had been no nightmares. No visions, terrifying or otherwise. “Not yet.”

“Good.” His response was almost a sigh of relief, and he hooked a pinky finger around hers for a brief moment, a bold public display of affection for a place so holy.

They reached the chamber of their destination and were greeted by Master Jenkins, the Jedi meditative specialist who was leading Rayne through her practice. “Good morning, Din.”

He tipped his head. “Jenkins.” Given the depth of memories and thoughts her guidance of Rayne’s practice required, it was impossible not to reveal his name, among many other things, and so he allowed her use of it when not in the presence of others.

Rayne turned and took both of his hands in hers. “Good luck today.”

“Thank you.” He paused for a moment, just to take it all in, and then gave her hands a mild squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see you later to get Yadier after school.”

“Yep.”

One last nod, and he turned and left.

Having visited the Educational and Force-Relational wings of the temple, Din headed to the Administrative wing to debrief one of the Council members on what he and Rayne had learned on Gideon’s Vibre and at Ilum, Luc having actually come through and gotten him on someone’s calendar.

He had plenty of time, so he paused at an atrium on his way, finding himself at a rail a few levels up, with several more levels overhead, clear transparisteel at the roof, letting the mid-morning sunlight stream down through the vertical jungle that grew up through the center of the temple.

The growth was dominated by two tall trees, thick, vine-wrapped trunks reaching up to the roof, their branches supporting moss and other symbiotic plants with vibrant blooms of all colors. Several species of butterflies fluttered about, pausing at the flowers to feed upon their nectar, wings opening and closing in relaxed beats.

Din didn’t quite know what to think. On the one hand, it seemed unnatural to keep plants and insects such at these inside. Cruel, almost, to cage these wild things. On the other hand, he had to admit it was beautiful. He just… wasn’t used to this kind of thing. This kind of adornment. He stood there for ten minutes, watching the butterflies, wondering if they realized they were confined, wondering if the trade-offs of protection from predators in here was worth the freedom of outside.

Standing there in the sun, he realized he was parched. He wondered if the blood-pressure meds were dehydrating him; water seemed to go right through him over the last couple days. He’d taken to carrying his water flask clipped to the back of his belt; standard operating procedure when he was hunting, but not something he was accustomed to on his down-time in civilized areas. The trick, of course, was finding a spot to lift the helmet and drink it. He was deep into the middle of the temple and his appointment was in five minutes. He’d have to duck into a fresher and make due.

After the whole atrium jungle thing, Din supposed he should have expected the first fresher he found to be a spacious, private, almost opulent facility. Leave it to the Jedi to require peace and harmony just to take a shit. He locked the door behind him, lifted the helmet off, and set it on the bench against the wall. He pulled the flask off of his belt, undid the cap, and downed the whole thing in one go.

The flask fell from his hands and clattered to the floor, suddenly forgotten.

Din froze in place, a sense of dread creeping into his mind.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

_Buir… Buir… no!_

Yadier…

Din fell to the bench as his mind suddenly split open, cracked asunder by the anguished cries of his son. He saw what his son saw. He heard what his son heard. He felt what his son felt.

He saw Rayne approach him with a blade in her hand. Not her lightsaber… something different, but still familiar. Her expression was calm, if unreadable. “I’m sorry, Yadi,” she said. “You’re a good boy, and you deserve better, but you’re too dangerous.” She reached for him with her empty hand, running a finger along an ear. “Too much power all in one place.” She shook her head. “If the Imps were to get you, they’d bring it all back. They’d be unstoppable. I can’t let it happen.” She brought the blade to his son’s throat. “I brought you here hoping they would know what to do, but they don’t. And now I have to do it myself.” She tilted her head, the cold, steel blue of her eyes staring right through him.

Her eyes were wet with tears as she lifted their son’s chin with her finger. “Jedi die for the good of the galaxy.” Her voice hitched. “I’m so sorry, Yadier. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find a place to keep you safe. You’ll always be my _verd’ika_. My little warrior. Please know I love you. Please forgive me.”

Din’s breath caught in his throat as he heard his son shriek, as his son saw the blade come for him, gagged as the blade plunged into his throat.

Xi’an’s blade.

Din’s vision threatened to grey out as he saw Xi’an’s blade in Rayne’s hand pull back covered in Yadier’s blood.

_No… no…_

The vision faded with the life force of his dead son.

Everything he had given up. His life. Everything he had fought for. Everything he had bled for. Everything he had almost died for. Everything most of the covert had died for.

Gone.

He had trusted her. They had bled together. Fought together. _Fucked_ together. How many times had she taken him? How many times had he trusted her with his bare skin? With his bare face in the dark?

This wasn’t the Dark Side. She would’ve tried to turn Yadier if it had been. The Sith would never leave behind such a prize as his son without trying to turn him first.

This was betrayal.

Cold, hard betrayal.

He picked his helmet up and stormed back to the chamber where he had last seen her, neglecting to put the helmet back on, murder in his heart.

He stalked the length of a Jedi temple bare-faced, not realizing it.

The halls were empty.

Rayne was alone in the chamber, trying to focus.

She’d had an unusual amount of trouble over the last twenty minutes, unsure as to why. Jenkins had left to prepare some tea to see if that would help.

And so it was that she was alone with her eyes already closed and her back to the door when Din stepped in with his helmet off.

Something was wrong.

Something was so, very wrong.

She opened her eyes but did not turn around, blood running cold in her veins. “Din…?”

“You murdered him.” His voice was little more than a low, hard growl.

_“What?”_

“You heard me.” She felt his boot between her shoulder blades as he kicked her forward. She fell into it and rolled to her back, eyes still closed, and heard the clatter of his helmet hitting the floor before he stepped forward and snapped binders onto her wrists. He hauled her up by the shoulders, hands gripping hard enough to bruise, and slammed her back to the wall. “You _murdered_ our _son_.” He threw his memory at her, the dying memory of his sweet, innocent, little boy.

Her own face. One of Xi’an’s blades in her hand. Covered in her son’s blood.

Oh, shit.

Rayne scrambled for an answer in her mind. This was either a Sith attack, or a Council simulation of one. Both had grave consequences, but it was best to treat it like the real thing.

“Din, you need to put your helmet back on. Right now.” The beskar would protect him from a distant attack. A closer one, though… she wasn’t sure.

Instead, he pinned her to the wall with his left forearm across her chest. With his right hand, he drew his knife from his boot, and brought it to her throat.

And with that one motion, he broke his promise to her.

A promise made months ago. His vow to never draw a weapon on her again. The vow he had resigned himself to breaking, but under what he had planned for being very different circumstances. Her unwilling submission to the Dark Side. A gradual slide that would have displayed symptoms, nightmares, things that would have prepared him, things that would have told him that her actions were no longer according to her will, and thus would have broken his heart in a slow, soft way.

But not this. Not this sudden betrayal. She’d played him for _months_. Played at caring for him, played at caring for _both_ him and his son, played at wanting a family. Only to turn around and destroy it in an instant. This… this had broken his heart with a brittle snap.

In this moment, that promise was the last thing on his mind.

“Look at me,” he growled.

“No.”

“Look at me!” Suddenly a roar.

“No.” His rage, hot and overwhelming, poured over her. His raw desire to plunge his knife through her throat bled out of his thoughts and into her mind. And the thing was… he was holding back. He wanted his revenge hot. Wanted to take his time with it. Wanted to make her suffer. Wanted it to get messy. Everything she had warned him against was ignored in this moment in his indulgence of hate and wrath.

It would slow him down, and she hoped she could use it to her advantage.

“Why aren’t you wearing your helmet, Din?”

“You murdered him. You were his _mother_. I let you be his _mother_. You pretended to be his _mother_. You let him think you were his _mother_. He called you _buir_ and you _let_ him do it. _Our son!_ You swore an oath to _our son_ and you did this!” His voice grated like broken glass.

Rayne cast about, searching for the source of Din’s delusions, trying to determine what she was fighting against before she did anything that would only catch him in the crossfire. His blinding rage made the task nearly impossible, like searching for distant stars while they were blocked out by the sun at high noon.

His weight against her chest pressed harder. “Look at me.” His Mando’a accent was coming on full force, rolling his R’s and raising his vowels. “I should’ve seen this coming.” He swallowed, then sucked in a sudden breath of air. “I _did_ see this coming. At Takodana. You as much admitted that you would sacrifice him. _For the good of the fucking galaxy_. Then we got here. You realized he was too powerful. Too tempting for the Imps. You realized he’s not safe here, either. _So you went and fucking did it_.”

“No… Din… that’s not… “

She felt the stubble on his jaw as he brought the side of his face to hers. “That’s not why? What, then. Was it because you didn’t want to be his mother? Because he wasn’t your own blood? Because the Jedi cut that part out of you?” She almost opened her eyes on him for that one.

“Was it because you can’t give us a child of our own?” He released his arm from her chest, blade still at her throat, and slid his free hand down, his fingers gliding low over her belly and her skin crawled. “Because what I give you has nothing to take root in?” His voice betrayed a tremor. “That we can’t mix our blood and make a life?” He brought his lips close to her ear. “You know that means nothing to me. You _know_ this. You know what matters more. That we protect the son that we had at all costs. That we shed our own blood for him. We _did_ that. Both of us opened our veins for him. And then you turned and opened his.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Please,” she felt his breath hot on her skin. “Stop _lying_ to me.”

“Din…”

He backed off just enough to be able to look at her face. “Was it because you didn’t want him to be raised as a Mandalorian at all? Because maybe he’d take up the armor? And you couldn’t handle the thought of that. Because you flinch every time you see me in it. Because you can’t stand the sight of me, and you couldn’t stand the thought of our son wearing it too. Because it reminds you of a man who was nothing more than a clone of a fake Mandalorian who sold himself to the Republic.”

He brought his left hand up to her throat, and her breath began to whistle as he slid the flat of his blade down her sternum. “Helmet’s off, Rayne. Get a good look. I’m nothing like him. No chip in my head. Not _programmed_ to kill you, like some _droid_. I’m going to kill you because I _want_ to. Because of what you _did_.”

Breathing was getting difficult. She wasn’t sure how long she could go before she would be forced to act blindly, not knowing what she was fighting. She kept looking. Kept looking but not seeing…

“Was it because you thought I would devote him to the _manda_ and leave you behind?” He pressed his head to hers. “I never told you. It’s too late for me. I’m already _dar’manda_. I lost my soul the moment I swore the Creed to the people who murdered my parents.” He pressed his lips to the skin just next to her eye. “You might as well look. There’s nothing to see. I have no soul.” He pulled away just enough for her to see his face if she chose to do so, but she did not. 

“Do you know what _dar’buir_ means?”

She’d never heard the phrase before, but it was easy enough to string together. “I know what it means.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

He brought his head to hers once more. “It’s what you’ve made us. Now that you’ve taken our son, you are no longer a mother. I am no longer a father. I have no soul. I have no son. I no longer serve a purpose.” He placed the hilt of his blade in her bound hands, angling the point to his gut, just below the bottom of his chestplate. “End it. Finish what you started and end me. I want to look my murderer in the eye when it happens. Please give me that much.”

“I didn’t do this.” Her mind raced. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” His voice was a low growl.

“I was so focused on teaching Yadier how to… how to protect himself from the Dark Side… it never occurred to me to teach you. Put your helmet on. Please. You have to put your helmet on. Someone else… someone’s in your head. Put your helmet on and it’ll stop.”

“Sorcery and fairy tales,” he grated out. He took his knife back. “Was it because you wanted to see what you were worth to me without him? Because you didn’t know what you were to me? Because I could only connect myself to you through him?”

Now, she felt hot tears on her face. They were not her own. “I _loved_ him.” The tears soaked through his voice. “You murdered someone I loved. And of all the things you could’ve used to do it, you…” A small choking sound hung in his throat. “You used the blade that belonged to someone who…” Now his body shook against hers. “Someone who’d had all the love beaten out of her. Got… turned into a monster. Someone I abandoned because that monster scared the shit out of me. I didn’t lift a finger to help her. I turned tail like a coward and I _ran_.” He swallowed a sob. “And you killed our son with her blade.”

Now his rage was shot through with sorrow, and that was somehow worse. It was all so real as it soaked through her with his tears.

“He loved you, Rayne. He loved you so much. I thought you loved him. You had me convinced. I really thought you loved him. I thought, maybe…” He paused, trying to steady himself, taking long breaths. “I thought maybe you loved me too.” He swallowed again, his mouth dry. “Did you ever love me? Were you ever even capable of it?”

She bit the tears back, refusing to answer him this way.

He mistook her silence as a “No.”

His sorrow fell away and was replaced by anger as he pulled her head away from the wall only to slam her back.

For one terrifying second, her eyes flew open at the impact. She didn’t see much. Through the tears and the blur of motion, she only caught a vague impression of his face; a dark mop of hair, brows over brown eyes, chiseled jaw. But mostly what she saw was rage.

White. Hot. Rage.

She didn’t know where his manipulator was. She didn’t know how far away. She didn’t know if she could break through it. She did know he would kill her if she didn’t try.

“I love Yadier, Din.”

“You murdered him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I watched it happen. I watched you murder our son. He trusted you. He _loved_ you. _I_ trusted you.” She felt his head press against hers once more, his breath ragged. “I _loved_ you.”

Oh, god.

Then he really started to squeeze, and she struggled to breathe.

“I want to see your eyes when you die. I want to see your eyes when I do to you what you did to our son.”

She was at the end of her rope. Now or never. “I’m… sorry… Din…”

She brought everything she had to the front of her mind, focused it to a sharp point, and threw it at him.

His hand left her throat and she heard him land a few meters away, armor clanking, helmet skittering along the floor. “PUT IT ON!” she shouted. She shouted and envisioned it at the same time, pushing under the foreign Force that had gripped him, replacing it, grasping for the helmet with his hands. She felt him struggle against her, felt something that wasn’t him resist her. Drawing another breath, she threw her mind against the Darkness, screaming with the effort.

In that brief moment, the Darkness lifted from Din’s mind, and he saw clearly.

In all that horrible clarity, he understood.

He reached for the helmet, grabbed it, and once again, felt the Darkness wrap around him, catch his arms, push the helmet away. He looked to Rayne, still shackled, eyes closed, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, chest heaving as she sucked in as much air as she could. “Help!” he called out.

He felt her response immediately, felt her hands in his mind, felt them push their way down from his shoulders, down his arms, joining with his own hands, her arms joining with his arms, and together they brought the helmet to his head, together they fought against the Darkness, and finally slammed it home.

The Darkness fell away.

Banished by the beskar.

Rayne sank to her knees.

_What have I done?_

She heard ragged gasps from under the helmet as he struggled to regain himself. She heard the clink of a knife being picked up and shoved back into a boot, the scrape of beskar sliding across the floor, approaching, Din apparently not trusting his legs.

She was shaking. “ _Ni ceta_ … I’m so sorry…” he said, voice pitched low, wavering, and she turned her face towards him, eyes still closed. He undid the binders on her hands. He held her steady as they both sank to the floor. “You can open your eyes now.” He brought her hands to the helmet, all the proof he could give her. “Please open your eyes.”

She complied, and something in his chest nearly crushed him to death when he saw how bloodshot her eyes were. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“Dark Side,” she said. She brought a hand up to grasp a pauldron. “I’m sorry… I didn’t think to train you against it…”

“No… no, no… I’m sorry. I almost killed you…” His hand shook as he wiped the blood away from her mouth. Her throat was already starting to turn purple. He knew the lines would match the shape of his own hand, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the sight of it. “I saw… god… it looked so real… Rayne… I’m so sorry…”

“Who took your helmet off?”

“No one. I was alone. I… thought I was alone. I was just getting some water. I’d just gotten through a flask of water when I saw…” He dropped his head, unable to stifle the shudder that wracked through him. “I saw you kill him. I saw you kill Yadier. It sounds so crazy now, but it was so _real_ …”

“It wasn’t. Someone got into your head. Someone knew what would hurt you the most and put it there.”

“I heard him cry, Rayne. I heard him _scream_.” The words choked out of the modulator and he couldn’t stop shaking.

“I know. I know how real it seems. We have to get out of here. We have to find him.”

A small figure entered the chamber. Yandia. “A test, this was. Passed it, you did not.”

Rayne felt Din’s body flood with rage once more. “ _You_ did this? You did this to me?”

“What you are up against I showed you. Vulnerable to the Dark Side you are.”

“It’s my fault,” Rayne broke in. “I didn’t prepare him. It never occurred to me that the Sith would bother with anyone who wasn’t Force-sensitive.”

“Anyone who claims to guard one as powerful as Yadier, the Sith will attack. Unqualified you are.”

Din’s body was still tense as he kept himself between Yandia and Rayne. “I can train for Force-resistance. Let me train for this.”

“Half your lifespan you have lived. Difficult such training will be. Success, I doubt.”

“He’s my son. Let me be a father to my son.” Din’s tone was an odd mix of pleading and anger.

“Consider it, we will. Reunited for now, you are.” Yandia beckoned beyond the doorway, and Yadier toddled around the corner, much to his parents’ relief. “Shielded from your ordeal he was. Know of your pain he does not.”

Sensing his parents’ inability to move, the youngling crossed the distance between them as quickly as his little legs would carry him, arms outstretched. “ _Buir!_ ” he cried as he collapsed into their pile on the floor.

Din scooped him up and held him tightly in one arm, Rayne in the other. “ _Ad’ika_ ,” he murmured. “Oh, _ad’ika_ , you’re ok…”

They were left alone to huddle like that for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” Din repeated, his trembling abated, his hold on his family still tight.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Rayne said, her head nestled in the space between his chestplate, pauldron, and helmet, one arm wrapped around his back.

“That’s the thing…” he paused, gathering himself. “I meant a lot of it. Fears I thought I was over.” He paused again, unsure, then decided that if he was speaking about truth, then all of it was necessary. “Something I wasn’t ready to admit.”

Rayne took a deep breath. “That’s how the Dark Side works. It takes what you know and twists it inside out. Makes your actions the lie.”

Yes, that was it, exactly. Her understanding melted away a small part of his guilt. But there was so much more hanging over them. “Rayne… do you…” The words hung in his throat, and he hated that he couldn’t seem to say them now, on his own, when he wasn’t being manipulated.

“Let’s do that part over later, ok? Not here. Not like this.”

He let out a relieved breath. “Yes. Later.”

Yadier burbled, apparently agreeing with their decision. As if to seal the deal, he turned to his mother, crawled into her lap, and reached up with his hands. Taking his meaning, Rayne leaned her face down to him so he could place his hands on her, one on her face, one on her throat. They both closed their eyes and she sighed as she felt the Force of her son flow through her, heal the bruise she knew had been forming at her throat, heal the bloodshot of her eyes that she had seen in her reflection from Din’s helmet. When he was done, he released his mother and smiled, letting out a happy coo. Din ran a finger along his son’s ear. “Good work, _verd’ika_.”

Yandia and Jenkins returned to the chamber, joined by Ona, Yandia clearing his throat to announce their presence. “Much to discuss, you and I have, Mandalorian. Rayne and Master Jenkins have much work to do as well. Master Ona can bring Yadier back to class.”

The clan of Rollins-Djarin picked themselves up. Din handed Yadier to Ona with one last tap of his forehead to Yadier’s, their little boy squeaking with happiness and a wave goodbye. He then held both of Rayne’s hands in his. They were still for a moment, as she gazed through the visor, knowing he was meeting her gaze with his own. When he was ready, he tipped his head and they released each other at the same time, and he followed Yandia out into the hall.

Jenkins motioned to a small table in the corner of the chamber with cups and a kettle.

“So. About that tea…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done. I promise!


	17. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rayne and Din pick up the pieces of Din’s spectacular failure.
> 
> A decision is made.
> 
> A course is set.
> 
> A message is sent.

_Love, love is a verb  
Love is a doing word  
Fearless on my breath_

Massive Attack, [Teardrop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7K72X4eo_s)

* * *

Rayne sat cross-legged before the low table as Jenkins poured tea for both of them.

She couldn’t say she was surprised about this latest test. The way it had been set up. What they had used against Din. Din’s reaction. Shocked, yes. Few things were as shocking as being held at knifepoint by a delusional Mandalorian. Even if that Mandalorian was inherently dangerous. Inherently aggressive. Inherently deadly. Because, with her, he wasn’t those things. With that one exception. The exception that had prompted his promise to not be that way with her ever again.

And so with all of the shock that had come with the breaking of that promise, there was little surprise to go along with it, because _of course_ that would be the exact thing they would push him to do.

It was how tests of the Jedi went; find the weakest point, and poke at it as hard as possible.

Jenkins settled across from her. “You were quick to determine the cause of Din’s behavior,” she said, sipping her tea.

Rayne pondered the cup before her. “Not much else could push him to do that.” She wrapped her hands around the cup, but did not lift it quite yet. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Anakin.”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe he can succeed at Force-resistance training?”

“I do.” Rayne gave in and tried the tea. It turned out to be pretty good. “Din Djarin is nothing if not disciplined.”

“His dedication to Yadier is fierce,” Jenkins observed.

“Yes. It is.”

“What would have happened if the vision had been reversed? If we had shown him Yadier killing you?”

Rayne froze. He likely would have interpreted it as Yadier’s fall to the Dark Side. Would he have sought the Council’s help? Not likely. He wouldn’t go to anyone who had not yet gained his trust. Cara. He’d have taken Yadier to Cara, and the two of them would’ve handled things the way warriors do. He would’ve gone into it hating himself, knowing he would continue to hate himself for the rest of his life.

At least, that would have been his plan of action. Talking him out of it would’ve been… interesting, if not horrifying.

Jenkins read her thoughts easily enough. “You understand why we take Sith infiltration so seriously.”

Rayne nodded. Anakin Skywalker’s downfall was not on his own shoulders. His failures were merely a reflection of the failures of the Jedi as a whole. Cutting him off from his family. Cutting him off from love. Rayne was unaware of his involvement with Amidala, but Luke didn’t just appear out of thin air, and the fact that he’d taken his father’s last name implied consent, so it was easy enough to put the pieces together. Pulling the plugs on love only left empty spaces for the Sith to fill.

Perhaps that’s how the Jedi had missed it. A lifetime of training for emotional detachment had left all of them blind to the cold hate radiated by Sith presence. Rayne had felt it plainly on the two occasions she’d been tracked by an Inquisitor, the same one both times. A lighthouse of darkness and fear, broadcasting its presence with such clarity that Rayne was able to stay far enough ahead to find passage to a different system, avoiding certain death.

Rayne swirled the remainder of her tea. “Are the Jedi of Genesaria any better at detecting the Sith?”

Jenkins tipped her head, having followed the train of Rayne’s thoughts. “As you suspect, our older Masters do not trust their own judgment on this matter. Our younger Force-sensitives, much like yourself, also felt the presence of Inquisitors and were able to escape. The Inquisitors seem to have disbanded by the beginning of the last war, so testing our abilities in this manner is difficult. But we must assume that the Sith are still a danger.”

“And what’s being done differently here to guard against them?”

Jenkins smiled. “Keeping families together as much as possible. Encouraging Force-sensitives to form and keep emotional bonds.”

“Will my family be granted the same allowance?”

Jenkins betrayed a quirk of an eyebrow.

Rayne recalled another feature of Jedi training. Often, the response to the failure of a test was just as important as passing or failing it to begin with. Some tests were designed so that failure was the only option – the true measurement was in how big a mess one made of it and what one did to make it right, afterwards.

“Din’s failure was stunning,” Jenkins said. “But his immediate response was to demand the chance to get better. That will play well in his favor.”

Rayne nodded. She sighed and poured herself another cup of tea.

* * *

“What did you do to me?” Din asked. They were seated on mats in Yandia’s chamber, Din’s elbows around open knees, posture held together with fingers hooked around each other.

“A false vision we gave you. Loosened your tongue. Attack the mother of your son you did. Surprisingly easy to manipulate to violence you were. Expect this level of hostility we did not.”

“I failed.” Din already knew this, but it seemed to bear repeating.

“Spectacularly! Hm!”

“I know non-sensitives can train for Force-resistance. I’ve been raising a Force-sensitive toddler for a year. We’ve been living with a Jedi for two months. I can handle this.”

“Your training with Rayne I have seen. Of the old ways of fighting, it reminds me. A specific purpose you have in mind.”

Din sighed. He had actually planned on having this conversation today, but wasn’t sure how it all fit in with this morning’s events. Yandia brought it up though, so he decided to roll with it. “The Jedi and Mandalorians were ancient enemies. Mandalorian armor, weaponry, and tactics are what they are because of the Jedi. The Jedi have always had the Force – their one advantage over the Mandalorians.

“It’s time for the Jedi and the Mandalorians to end the conflict and join forces.”

“For what purpose?” Yandia asked.

“The Empire isn’t done. We’re not safe, even here. If Force-sensitives can find this place, so can the Sith. Assuming Gideon was the only resurgence out there is foolish.”

“An army, you wish to build.”

Din recoiled, just a bit, before he caught himself. He hadn’t thought of it as an _army_ , per se. No more than he’d thought of Mandalorians being an army. It was… simply a way of life. A people who _were_.

“What separates the Mandalorians and the Jedi from others?” Yandia asked.

Din drew a breath, starting to see where the old Master was headed.

Yandia’s eyes narrowed. “Riddled with war for ages Mandalore was. A barren desert now most of the planet is. Arrogant with their abilities the Jedi were. Wiped out by the Sith as a result. Neither people war served well.”

Din had to concede that. “I’m… living proof of the shortcomings of Mandalore’s old ways. Rayne doesn’t want the mistakes of the old Jedi made with our son. That’s why we’re here. We both want something different. The ways of one complement the other. Mandalorian desire for family. Jedi desire for peace. They keep each other in check.”

“Mm. An interesting proposal, this is. One to be considered carefully from many perspectives. Bring it to the Council, I will.”

Din tipped his head. “Thank you.”

“And what of the Darksaber?”

“What of it?”

“Unite Mandalore, its possessor can. So the legend holds.”

Din had to keep himself from laughing. “Gideon stole it from a Mandalorian. I hope to give it back to its rightful owner.”

“And if the rightful owner is of Clan Vizsla?”

Din froze.

Yandia ticked an ear. “Clear, your hatred for Death Watch is. Perilous is the path forged by hate. A prime tool of the Sith, hate is.”

Din took another long, slow breath. “I understand.”

“Yet renounce that path, you do not.”

“That will… take some time.”

“Hm! Your honesty I appreciate. And yet, in other matters, divided your heart is.”

Din dropped his gaze. “Not as much anymore, I don’t think.”

“What was it about Sorgan that drew you so?”

Din closed his eyes, allowing himself to slide back into memories that he had forced the door closed on months ago. “It was simple. Peaceful. Would’ve been a good place for Yadier. When that didn’t work, I thought, once I got him to safety, maybe it would be a good place for me.”

“Driven by simplicity and peace you are not. If you are the Mandalorian you claim to be.”

Din sighed. “That’s not all there was.”

“Hm. Another Mandalorian value, then. A family you found.”

There it was. “Yes.”

“Of your mother Omera reminded you.”

“Huh.” Din hadn’t realized it at the time, but now that it was brought to his attention, he saw the truth of it. The shape and color of her eyes, the long dark waves of her hair, the brownness of her skin, the careworn face, the chiseled chin. He’d found a distant comfort in all of it. The lengths she would go to protect her child. Except where his own mother had died for her efforts, Omera had survived her protection of Winta. And he would’ve claimed Winta as his own in an instant. They would’ve replaced the family he had lost so long ago. “Yes,” he finally admitted.

“And cease your thoughts of those you would leave here once on Sorgan.”

“No. I’ve come too far with Yadier and Rayne to leave them. For Sorgan or anywhere else.”

“What is it that Din Djarin wants, then? Hm?”

That was the thing. Right there. Life had never been about what he wanted. It had always been about what he’d had to do. He’d never had much of a choice. Until the last few years, the circumstances of his life merely shoved him around and he’d dealt with it the best he could. Stealing the Razor Crest was the first time he’d bucked against the flow of his life, but stealing Yadier was the first time he had truly banked a hard turn against it, and his world had been turned upside down ever since, pinning him against a different variety of hard places. But now, he actually had _goals_ , and he found himself completely flummoxed as to how to reconcile them. Have a family and raise his son. Raise an army, apparently. Maybe somehow raise hell with Death Watch without inviting a downward spiral to the Dark Side. Figure out what to do with an ancient holy Mandalorian relic. But the ache in his back reminded him that he was in his mid-forties, and he recognized how exhausted he was, how he sometimes dreamed of retreating to a forest, maybe switching which planet that forest might be located on, to lay back upon the earth and watch the stars turn through the trees with his lover’s fingers laced through his.

Still, the three pieces of him. To love. To destroy. To retreat.

“All at once, it does not have to happen,” Yandia said.

Din let out a breath, not realizing he had been holding it.

“Love your son, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Love his mother, do you not?”

He opened his mouth, but only silence came out.

“Difficult the words are.”

“Yes.”

“Still broken, that part of you.”

The only response Din could manage was a shift in his shoulders.

“That part of her, as well.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a moment, unsure if his question was appropriate, then decided to give it a voice. “Do the words matter?”

“Hm! Less than actions, certainly. How else to communicate, hm?”

Din tapped his helmet. “She sees right through me most of the time. She must already know.”

“What you hide from yourself she cannot see. Actions only, you have given her.”

He couldn’t help his mind from straying to their intimate moments, then locked it down, sure that wasn’t the answer Yandia was looking for.

Yandia apparently disagreed. “One way, yes. Others you have, as well.”

Neither Din nor Rayne were particularly affectionate people, both having been trained against it in childhood. Their expressions of it were thus more subtle than most, and easy for both of them to miss. A lingering gaze. A gentle touch. An encouraging word. The motions were small, but the emotions that drove them were powerful, driving storms that did little more than shift the blade of a seized windmill the barest of an inch. But sometimes, the storms were powerful enough to break the windmill free altogether, a wild spin in the form of bringing an entire starship down or mutilating a Stormtrooper. Violent, gruesome expressions of love, but ones that made sense given their lives and circumstances. Yandia showed all of this to Din, and he tilted his head in understanding.

“We’re the windmill.”

“Correct. And the wind.”

“Fixing the windmill will make us less vulnerable to the Dark Side.”

“Ah. Entirely blind to the ways of the Force you are not.”

Din knew exactly where to start.

With the big chunk of beskar on his head jamming up the works.

He was done with the cowardice that was keeping it on. That isolated him from his family.

Yandia’s eyes widened just a bit. “Done for today we are. Home from school early, you may take your son. A few more hours, we will keep Rayne.

* * *

Din picked Yadier up from class, feeling impatient, afraid he would lose his nerve. Still, he let his son walk home next to him, something they had been trying to do more often now that they were in friendly territory. It took longer, his short little legs pumping out eight or nine steps for every one of theirs, but they were generally in less of a hurry these days, anyway.

When they got home, Din swept him up and carried him to the kitchenette, where he could sit him on the table and be closer to eye level while Din sat in a chair.

Worn out from the walk, Yadier was calm, sucking on his Mythosaur pendant.

Din put his head in his hands and listened to his own shaking breaths through the modulator. “I need a friendly audience, kid,” he said to the floor. “You get to be the first living thing to see my face in more than thirty years.”

 _“Merwelp_.”

Din sat back in the chair. “That’s all you’ve got?”

His son gave him a raspberry around the Mythosaur.

“You’re right. Foot off the break. Here goes.” _Be brave. Look your son in the eye. Do what he does every day._ He disengaged the seal, pulled the helmet off, and let his son look at him.

Yadier’s eyes grew huge and the Mythosaur fell out of his mouth as his face split into a wide grin. “ _Buuuuuiiiiirrrrr!_ ” The squeal came out about an octave higher than usual. Before Din knew what was happening, Yadier launched himself off of the table and into his father’s arms, his tiny body shaking with laughter and joy. He climbed his way up the chestplate and Din held him up so they both could get a good look at each other. Yadier’s eyes spilled over with tears, and his head tilted left and right to cover all the angles. “ _Buir!_ ” He reached his arms out to be held close, and Din held him to his face. The little boy giggled as he rubbed his cheek against Din’s scruff and patted Din’s face with his tiny clawed hands.

Relief flooded Din as he held Yadier close. He brought his lips to the top of his son’s head and kissed him there, and his mind was inundated with the memory of the last kiss his own father had given him, in the same place at the top of his head. He let it come, let the tears come, as he cried and laughed with his son.

* * *

Rayne came through the door and the first thing she saw was Din’s helmet still on the kitchen table.

His armor was stacked on the floor beneath it.

She froze.

She could think of about a million ways this could be bad, and only one way this could be good.

She heard talking and laughter from Yadier’s room as she took measured steps to the table. She reached out for the helmet with one hand, hesitated, then let herself trace a finger across the black T of the visor.

There was an unhelmed, unarmored Mandalorian in her home and the golden rays of the setting sun were streaming through all of the windows.

She lifted the helmet off of the table with both hands. The only face she had ever known of her Mandalorian stared back at her, the black T against silver. It weighed heavy in her hands, as if his head was still in it.

She’d handled it twice before, when installing the fob scrambler at the back of it, just next to the bottom of the louver, and again when deactivating it. A two-time necessity. She had not been one to touch it often even when his head was in it. She wasn’t sure that the first time she’d lifted it off of him even counted, blindfolded, using his own hands between hers and the beskar to lift it off so she could heal the blood-spilling skull fracture.

And now here it was on the kitchen table next to Yadier’s rubber frog, her data pad, and Din’s book tablet, where they’d all been left after breakfast this morning, the knickknacks of their daily lives.

Helmet in her hands, she turned and walked towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She heard Din’s unmodulated voice as he chatted with Yadier in the child’s room, and his tone sounded light. He sounded… fine. When she got to the entrance to the hall, she lowered her head, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Din?”

The chit-chat stopped, and she heard him take a long breath. “Yeah. We’re in here.”

“Do you want your helmet?”

A short pause. “No.”

“Everything ok in there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, things are good. I didn’t scare him, so, yeah.”

“This was on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“You ready for me to come out?”

“Um…” she turned so her back was to the room. “Yeah.”

She heard his knees crunch as he got up off the floor. His steps were light as he walked into the hallway. She heard Yadier shuffle over, poke his head out the door, and squeak out a short “ _Buir!_ ” in greeting to his mother.

She lowered her head again and responded. “Hey, _ad’ika_.”

Sensing that the adults wanted to talk, he let loose with a final raspberry and returned to his toys.

She felt Din’s right hand on her hip as he reached around with his left to lift the helmet from her hands by the bottom edge. She heard it drop to the floor, and then his left hand fell to her other hip. He stepped close behind her, placed a kiss at the back of her head, and leaned against the wall. “Hey.”

His voice was so close. His face was right behind her. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Losing my religion.”

“Losing or changing?”

“Mm. Maybe just changing.”

“What about your soul?”

“This hasn’t been about my soul since Coruscant. You know that.”

“What’s it been about, then?”

“I couldn’t let you look me in the eye. Knowing what I was.”

“What was that, exactly?”

“The foundling of a terrorist organization who swore his soul to the people who murdered his parents. A man who’s captured or murdered hundreds of people for a paycheck to feed more foundlings of the same terrorist organization. A man who sold a baby to the Empire.”

“I’ve known who you are this whole time.”

“Knowing and seeing aren’t the same. I didn’t…” He paused, voice cracking. “I didn’t deserve your eyes on me. Either of you.”

 _Oh, Din_. She’d sensed the recriminations he’d flung at himself in a vague sort of way since Coruscant, but to finally hear it all out loud broke her heart. “What changed?”

“I’m tired of it… the helmet… being used against you. It’s happened twice since we’ve gotten here. It’s been used against me all along. Against all of the Mandalorians. It stopped being protection and turned into a shackle. We’re slaves to it. I’m done with being a slave.”

She nodded. “Yeah.” She’d told him as much two months ago. In the end, it was something he had to come to terms with himself. The silence stretched as they stood in the hallway, breathing. “So you can put it back on?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to see you?”

“No, but we’re at the point where it’s harder on you than it is on me.” His voice cracked again. “I… don’t know what’s going to happen after today. I know I blew it, but… I have something to say to you and I need you to look me in the eye when I say it.”

Rayne swallowed, discovering that her breaths were coming hard. “Is it time for that do-over?”

“This morning… never before in my life had I fought with _words_ , and there I was, spewing delusions, and then… _that…_ came out. And it was… weaponized. And… yes. I want to take it back and do it over.”

She took a breath, head lowered, and turned around. His hands returned to her hips. For a long time, she just stared at his feet, clad in his socks. Black pants and a black short-sleeved shirt rounded out the top of her field of vision.

She lifted her gaze and looked upon the face of her Mandalorian for the first time.

Round, brown eyes, lines forming at the outside corners as his mouth pulled into a tentative, anxious smile. She brought her fingertips to the top edges of his eyebrows, running along their length with a light touch, then brought them along his jaw, lined with patchy stubble. The same motions she had run through before, hidden in the dark, but now with the light to guide her.

She looked upon what touch had not otherwise spoken of. The dark brown mop of hair that he had obviously cut himself weeks ago, flecks of gray coming in at his temples. Brown, penetrating eyes. Long, black eyelashes. A pleasant mouth with full lips. An almost boyishly round face, despite the strong jaw line. Light bronze skin that matched the rest of him, his tan from Methuselah fading. Stubble salted with gray at the backs of his jaws. A proud, aquiline nose. Two lines between his brows, just like he told her about, just two months ago, their first night together. It all came together in a face that was surprisingly kind for someone who had done the things he had done. Taken the abuse he had taken.

Maybe there was something to be said for the protective properties of beskar.

Din was stunning.

And the expression of anxiety on his face screamed that he had absolutely no idea how stunning he was.

“Thirty years of hiding that face in a bucket was a crime against nature.”

He broke into an embarrassed grin that revealed white, even teeth. He brought his hands up to her head, threading his fingers through her short hair, catching himself from his first impulse to pull her in and kiss her. Allowing her the space to look, instead. The space to see. To have her acceptance, for her to look him in the eye knowing full well what he was, even after what he had done to her today, even if it wasn’t of his own volition, was overwhelming.

The first adult to ever see his adult face had looked upon him and deemed him worthy.

It should have made what he had to say next easier, but it didn’t.

Din’s expression switched from embarrassed grin to burdened confession in an instant, and Rayne bore witness to the fact that he had never learned to control his facial expressions. His face was an absolute beacon betraying his emotions, and she realized that she would have to teach him to school himself back. For now, though, she would take it all in.

He took a breath, found that he couldn’t hold her gaze and say the words at the same time, so he dropped his eyes. “Rayne, I…” Again, the words hung in his throat. He swallowed. A whispered “Goddammit” fell out instead.

She reached for the back of his head and brought his face to hers for a slow, gentle kiss. When she released him, her tone was soft. “Take all the time you need.”

His expression switched to pained nostalgia. “The last person I said this to shoved me into a bunker and was killed by a missile.”

She met his gaze. “The last person I said this to shoved me through an airlock and was sucked into outer space.”

He huffed out a sigh, closing his eyes and bringing his forehead to hers. _We’re both so fucked up_.

She let her arms fall around him as he shuddered against her, giving him as much comfort as she could. When he pulled away once more, she held his gaze, his face now a study in desperation, deep brown eyes round and wide, brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a thin line of tension.

The Mando’a phrase for _I love you_ was not a direct translation. _Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. I hold you in my heart forever._ Din thought Rayne might know the words, but the Clones would not have strung them together like that for the Jedi Younglings, so she might not get it. And he needed for her to get it. If he could just… get it out…

Without realizing what he was doing, his hands fell into the literal motions of the sign language used by the Tuskens on Tatooine, his eyes not leaving hers. With his right hand, he pointed to his own face. With his left, he closed his fist and placed it over his heart. His right opened in her direction. With his left, he reached up, then lowered his hand slowly, fingertips making a sprinkling motion. The sign for “rain.” _I love you, Rayne_.

She slid her hands up his arms and threaded her fingers through his hair, blue eyes locked on brown, and her response was mercifully immediate, even if it was only whispered. “I love you, Din.”

He kissed her, long and deep.

They stood in the hallway like that for a long time. Quiet. Gentle. Connected.

Yadier continued to play with his toys in his room, a broad, toothy grin opening his face as he floated his toys in an orbit above his head, very much attuned to the love his parents were finally sharing. Finally healed enough to love. Finally healed enough to admit it to each other, even if just barely. He shared the news with his new friends, their minds already interconnected through the Force, and they rejoiced with him.

Yandia, in particular, was quite pleased.

* * *

After an undetermined amount of time, Rayne and Din became aware of their son’s giggling from his room. With one last kiss, they pulled apart and stepped in to observe the levitating toys. They fell to the floor as Yadier raised his arms.

Instead, Din got back down on the floor so Yadi could crawl all over him, punctuating his explorations with little grunts as he thumped his tiny claws against Din’s ribs and chest. Rayne lay next to them, almost melting as she watched her son play so openly, as if he was more alive without the beskar blocking him from his father. His eyes big and round, his ears perked up, he romped up and down Din’s legs, squirmed up Din’s chest, and then sat on the floor between them so he could resume the exploration of his father’s face.

Din endured it for an hour and a half, and Rayne found herself floored by the range of expressions his face transmitted. The broadness of his smile, how it flashed his teeth and crinkled the skin around his eyes. She had never imagined that he could look so… _happy_. For two months, he’d been nothing more than a black T against silver and a mess of body language. For the last few weeks, he’d been vague shapes of warm flesh and scruff in the dark. Now, he was finally a real person, a real person who _laughed_ without a modulated filer. Laughed and blinked and rolled his eyes and smiled.

The baby’s energy began to wane, eyelids half-closed, ears drooping. They let him snuggle in under Din’s jaw while they continue to lay on the floor facing each other, fascinated with the notion of direct eye contact. Rayne stared at Din without apology, noticing that the brown of his irises was even darker than Yadier’s, even if they didn’t fill up quite as much of his eyes. Finding where the irises ended and the pupils began was difficult, and after a while, she realized his pupils were dilated.

“Handling everything ok?” Rayne asked.

“Yeah.”

Din’s stomach chose that moment to make a disgruntled noise, and Yadier giggled.

“I may not have gotten around to lunch today.”

Rayne raised an eyebrow. “Ready for your first face-to-face meal with your family?”

“I don’t know, but I’m starving. Now is a good time to try.”

They prepared the meal together with what they had on-hand in the small kitchenette. Din’s hands kept shaking and he had to yield the knife duties to Rayne. They kept it simple; fish, rice, and vegetables. Things that would stay on a fork with ease no matter how much his hands shook and not get caught in his teeth.

Once he found himself seated in front of his plate, fork in hand, Din found himself unable to lift it. He kept his eyes down, doing his best to ignore his audience, unaware that they actually weren’t focused on him. He looked up at Rayne’s laugh, saw that she was watching Yadier, and turned to see him Force-lift his entire helping of fish and slide the whole thing into his mouth, swallowing it whole. Din turned back to see Rayne’s face in her hands, still laughing. She was able to face him when she’d collected herself after a minute or so. “I guess we’ll have to prioritize teaching him table manners, now.”

Table manners. “Good luck. He’s been catching frogs and eating them alive straight off the dirt for the last year.” He picked up his fork again, broke off a small piece of fish with it, pushed the tines through the flesh, and lifted it off the plate.

He couldn’t get it more than a few centimeters off before his arm froze. His hand hung in mid-air for several seconds before he gave up and put it back down.

Rayne watched him struggle, heartbroken at the frustration written all over his face. “I know this is a lot all at once.” Her tone was soft.

He brought his gaze up to meet hers, and she was struck by the mixture of hope and weariness she saw before her. He looked back down. “Yeah,” was all he could say.

“Do you need me and Yadier to step out for a bit? Give you some space?”

“No,” he reached across the table for her hand. “Please stay.”

“Ok. Do you want me to close my eyes or anything?”

“No,” he said again. He reminded himself of all the times she had dealt with her claustrophobia to share herself with him in his bunk on the Razor Crest. All the times she had tolerated the press of his helmet against the back of her head, despite the harrowing memories of her clone-trooper-uncle turned murderer. If she could do all that, the least he could do was eat a plate of fish in front of her. “I’ll make it work.”

“Ok.” She tightened her hold on his hand.

With his other hand, he managed to pick up his glass and take a few gulps of water without incident. Progress. Once more, he picked up his fork, fish still on it. He closed his eyes, pictured himself lifting it to his mouth, parting his teeth, bringing it home. The flavor of it spread across his tongue before he realized he’d actually done it. He kept his eyes closed, concentrating on how it tasted, knowing that it wasn’t important for him to see, but in the being seen that mattered.

She watched as the fork slid from his mouth and he paused for a moment, furrows in his brow smoothing out, eyes still closed. After what seemed like a long time, his jaw finally worked as he chewed a few times, and then he held his breath as he swallowed. When he was ready, he opened his eyes once more, the deep brown of his irises crowding out most of the whites.

“How was that?” she asked.

He held her gaze with his for a long time before he finally answered. “Delicious.”

Yadier laughed. They turned to face him. Seeing that he had their attention, he Force-lifted all of the rice off of his plate, opened his mouth wide, and managed to get every last grain past his teeth before swallowing it all and letting out a belch.

They managed to make eye contact without turning their heads from him. “He’s picking up some skills at school. He’d have had half of it all over the table before.” Rayne said.

Din dropped his gaze and huffed out a laugh.

He ate his dinner.

Din got Yadier ready for bed, giving him a bath and reading to him as Rayne cleaned up their dinner items. When all was done, he eased himself into the couch, slouched back, and closed his eyes.

It had… been a day.

Rayne made to sit next to him but he pulled her into his lap instead, facing him. “Mmm, you’re right,” she said, bringing her lips to his. “This is better.”

He sighed into her kiss, bringing his hands to her hips. They stayed like that for a long time, overwhelmed by it all, focusing on what they could when they could, the familiarity of warm, soft lips and gentle excursions of tongues, the novelty of the roundness of an iris, the arch of a brow, the shadow of a jaw.

When they pulled apart, he closed his eyes, bringing one hand up to keep her forehead to his. “You’re sure you can love a man without a soul?”

She brought her hands up to rest her weight against his chest, and he opened his eyes to catch her gaze. “Whatever you have in here that makes you who you are, that makes the choices you make when you have room to make a choice… that’s who I love. I love the man who gave everything up to get a strange little alien baby to safety. I love the man who is kind and gentle despite being raised in an unkind and ungentle world. I love the man who was willing to trust me when he had little reason to do so.”

He closed his eyes once more, his next words coming out in a whisper. “I love the woman who takes my broken pieces and puts them back together. I love the woman who protects me and our son from the rest of the galaxy.” He paused, wondering at the relative ease of the words now. They only came out in a whisper, but still. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze for what he said next. “I’m sorry about what I said this morning. About… not being able to have our own children. But I meant it when I said that didn’t matter. It doesn’t. At all.”

“I know.”

“Does it matter to you?”

She turned her head in a slow shake. “Not really. I grew up knowing it would never be an option, so…” She shrugged. “Wouldn’t matter if it did.”

Once again, he noted her characteristic detachment from things that most others would find difficult, part of him feeling heartbroken for her about it, another part of him grateful for the insulation it provided her.

She stroked the blank patch in his stubble with her thumb. “Did you ever want any of your own?”

He took a long breath and let it out, wondering how to get this next part out. “Mandalorians who aren’t in a clan can have children. They get adopted by a clan or are raised by the Fighting Corps. Anything to get our numbers back up. The catch is that the birth parents can’t ask about them. Blood ties don’t matter. The kids know the names of their birth parents only so they can avoid sleeping with a sibling later on, but that’s it. Women make it clear about what they want. The men either agree or don’t. We’re never told if anything comes of it.”

Rayne gave a slow nod. “You’re trying to tell me you might have children.”

“Yeah,” he said, heart hammering in his chest. “I might.”

“Huh.” She broke eye contact and sat back, her gaze distant.

“Does that bother you?”

“What?” She brought her gaze back to his. “Oh. No, sorry. It’s just… weird. That you might have kids out there. Somewhere. No idea how they are. If they’re ok. That… must be hard.”

He shook his head. “It’s just how things were. I never thought to question it until the… whole thing at Coruscant. I just… wanted you to know.”

“Thank you,” she said, running her hands from his shoulders to his elbows. Her expression was one of complete acceptance. “Any guess on how many?”

“No more than five, I don’t think. That’s only if all the ones who…” He left off, then he remembered Gideon’s words and frowned. “Maybe six. I’m not sure about the first one.”

“Are you questioning things now?”

He relaxed, flattening his hands over her thighs, having gotten through the hard part. “Haven’t had the mental space for it until this week, but, yeah. The files Reesha gave me might have some leads. The oldest might’ve made it to the Mandalorian registers before the Purge.” God, if Alaria… they were eighteen when they were separated. When she left. He could have a twenty-six year old child. He could be a _grandfather_.

God, he felt so old.

Din shook his head. “I haven’t had the nerve to look anything up. I won’t until I figure out…” He left off again, unable to complete the thought. He took another long breath, meeting her gaze. “All the secrets are out.”

“Yeah.” Rayne’s voice was rougher than he expected.

He changed his earlier decision about letting her bring up the issue of her name. Might as well get all of the cards on the table, now. “Does it bother you that I know your name?”

“No.” She dropped her gaze. “I just… wanted to tell you under different circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

She ran a thumb along his jaw, wondering if she was about to admit too much. “The same way I told Hayes.”

The only other person she had ever told. Her husband. Oh. _Oh_.

She lifted her gaze back to his, brown eyes wide and full and round. Mildly surprised, but they’d both had enough for one day. “If it ever came to pass,” she said, taking mercy on him. “The Council got ahead of me on it.” She paused, watching as he closed his eyes and turned his face into her hand, exhaustion winding its way through both of them. “I haven’t used it in three and a half decades. I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable with it again.”

“Mmm…” His eyes were still closed. “I like the name you’ve been using.” He brought a hand up to hers so he could press it to his lips for a kiss. All of the tension left his body for a brief moment as sleep claimed him, and then he jerked back awake. The hour was not particularly late, but the day’s mileage was long and getting Force-controlled had taken its toll on him.

Rayne kissed the top of his head, his hair soft against her face. “Time for bed.”

Din grunted his agreement as she helped him up, and he made his way to the fresher with a weary shuffle, leading her by the hand. When they got to the door, he turned and let his hands fall to her hips. “I’m not gonna make it past half-mast tonight.”

She nodded. His anxiety, both about being totally seen and the future of his residency, washed over her with his exhaustion. “I understand.” She smiled, tracing the lobe of his ear.

“But…” he tipped his head toward the shower, lifting an eyebrow. “I could stand to ease into things.”

Oh god, his eyebrow quirk almost undid her. The way it changed his expression in such a complete manner. The perfect arch of it, the promise it suggested. Had he been doing _that_ under the helmet all this time? She slid her hands down from his head, down his chest, then dropped them away all together, her eyes not leaving his until she pulled her shirt off over her head. She recalled the first time they had showered together, when he had removed the helmet in the dark, needing to shed himself of the blood from Mayfeld and Xi’an’s executions. Now, he had removed the helmet in the light, needing to shed himself of the experience of being manipulated by the Force and breaking the promise he had made to her. She met his eyes with her own again, slid her pants off over her hips, and stepped out of them. She stood before him; just her and nothing else save for the beskar casing hanging at her throat, hoping her first venture would give him the courage to follow. He pulled his shirt off easily enough, but he only got as far as unbuckling his belt before his hands began to slow, and he ground to a halt after hooking his thumbs through his belt loops.

He dropped his gaze, then brought it back up to meet hers. “Can you close your eyes?”

She complied.

He took a breath, removed the rest of his clothes, then reached out to take her hand in his. “Keep them closed,” he said, voice soft. He brought her fingertips up to trace his right eyebrow, then the bridge of his nose, then kissed them with his lips, then along his jaw, down his throat, past his own beskar casing, down his sternum, and abs. He paused to slip one into his navel, then along the ridge of his hip, and finally brought her hand to rest around the parts of himself that he had begun to think of as belonging to her. In the same way he had come to think of parts of her as belonging to him, unable to keep himself from thinking _mine_ in a possessive way as he brought his mouth to her, as he sank what belonged to her into what belonged to him.

Maybe that was messed up. But he couldn’t help that the exchange felt fair. _Mine. Hers_.

Her hand was gentle on him. She always was. Still, his body responded about how he expected; an initial twitch of promise, followed by exhausted reality. “You can open your eyes, now.”

She did. She understood his actions, needing first to be touched all the way through, in the way he was familiar with, before he could be seen in his entirety. The unspoken message. _I am vulnerable, and I am in your hands_. Her eyes landed first where he had left her hand, unused to his lack of responsiveness in this particular position, but understanding it. She released him, and reversed the path of her hand, her eyes following, up his hip, through his navel, back up his abs, sternum, throat, jaw, lips, nose, and back to his eyebrow, careful again to stay along the outside of the orbit of his eye.

For the first time, she saw the full length of him, from head to toe. Fully human. An actual person. No longer just a body with an anonymous Mandalorian head tacked onto the top of it.

For the first time, he was whole to her.

She let out an appreciative sigh.

He led her into the shower.

They watched as the water poured over each other. Din was reminded of how she looked when she swam in the lake, curls tamed by the weight of the water as they lay flat atop her head before she swept them back. Rayne watched as he let the water soak him through, eyes closed as his hair plastered against his skull, mouth open as the water ran over his stubble and off of his jaw. He watched her wash her hair, this being only his second shower with another person, their first time in the dark, and he marveled at the vulnerability of the whole thing. Somehow even more vulnerable than sex. Standing naked before each other, eyes periodically closed against the soap, wet and slippery, off-balance when reaching in certain ways, confined in an enclosed space.

When they were done, they toweled off. No need for the hairdryer; the helmet wasn’t going back on until the morning. They brushed their teeth together simply because they could. Naked, simply because they could.

He followed her to their bedroom and they donned their usual sleeping attire, shorts for both, plus a t-shirt for Rayne, expecting Yadier to make his usual swing through to check in at some point during the night. Din pulled the curtains open, and when Rayne turned out the light, moonlight flooded the room and she could see the edges and shadows of his face in the pale glow.

He collapsed into bed, pulling her to him as she slid under the covers. She watched his eyes close even as he pulled her knee over his hip, then slid his hand back up her thigh, palm open and fingers spread wide. “I want this to work,” he whispered in the dark, his voice gutted by exhaustion.

“I do too,” she whispered back.

* * *

She dreamed.

A man in white Clone armor. Red and blue stripes painted across his chest.

 _“Ad’ika,”_ he said, his voice warm. He walked to her, but she was powerless to flee as he pulled a knife from his boot. _“Ad’ika,”_ he said again, a voice she hadn’t heard in decades, holding his other hand out, palm up. “Rez…” He pushed her back against an unseen surface in an odd, gentle way, and she found herself paralyzed.

He held the knife to her throat. “Rayne.” The voice changed. Ragged. Sorrowful. Din’s voice. He took the Clone helmet off to reveal Din’s face, grief writ large in the furrows of his brow. “Don’t make me do this, Rayne.” His brown eyes stared straight through her, even as she felt the edge of the knife against her skin. “I don’t want to do this.” His voice cracked into a million pieces. “Don’t make me kill the ones I love.”

He closed his eyes, brought his mouth to her neck, just behind her jaw, and she felt his breath on her skin as he placed a slow, hard bite on her.

She woke with a start.

Din’s eyes, wide open in the moonlight, stared back at her, face etched with concern, his hand warm around the back of her neck.

He’d woken her up.

The same way he always had before, when her nightmares woke him before they woke her. A caress at the back of her head at arm’s length, before she could make enough noise to wake Yadier.

She blew out a sigh and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” She opened her eyes. “Just grinding over yesterday. Did you… get any of it?”

“No.”

Good. That was good.

He pulled her to him, pausing when he noticed her hesitation, but then she came the rest of the way herself, tucking her head under his chin. Done with the flinching. Done with the strangled moans. Her body at rest as her breathing evened out against his chest.

Just a normal nightmare. No different from the half-dozen she’d had before over the course of the last couple of months. Outpacing his own rate by a little, but not much.

 _Normal_ , he told himself. Then he almost laughed. Nothing about them was normal. _Our version of normal_.

Nothing more.

* * *

Rayne woke to daylight for the first time since Takodana.

She woke to daylight without a beskar helmet pressed to her head for the first time since Methuselah.

She woke to daylight and the sight of a man’s face half-buried in the pillow next to her for the first time in two years. Din was still asleep, so she took the opportunity to stare, to take him all in, as much as she could.

He was on his side, facing her, with only the right side of his face visible. Relaxed. At peace. Hair an unruly mop. Long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheek. Lips parted just the slightest bit in the middle.

God, those lips of his. She wanted them on her forever.

As if sensing he was being watched, he woke with the simple motion of an opening eye, big and brown, and his breath paused. His eyebrow lifted and his mouth pulled into the ghost of a smile as he pressed himself further down into the pillow, as if trying to hide.

She broke her stare with a slow blink and smiled. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

“Morning,” he replied, voice thick with sleep, rolling over to face away from her, but pulling her arm with him so she was spooning around his back.

They lay like that for a little while, and he placed soft kisses on her fingertips, one by one.

Breakfast was a mildly anxious affair.

Din got through the meal itself with little hesitation, just yogurt with pineapple. He kept bringing pineapples home, about one every other day. Rayne had sensed him watching her eat it from behind the helmet, and confirmed it this morning, judging by the stolen glances she’d caught him in. She wondered in an idle way if he’d developed a kink for it after The Great Bacta Bath.

She couldn’t decide if that was hot, hilarious, or messed up.

When it was time to get going, he picked the helmet up off of the table and held it in his hands for a moment, staring down at the visor. She watched his hesitation, then let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when he turned it around in his hands and slid it over his head. “Everything alright?”

“Yes.” This was fine. The old Death Watch rules didn’t matter anymore. He was still a Mandalorian. He still lived according to the _Resol’nare_. Just… a looser interpretation of it. It didn’t matter that he’d shown his face to his son and the woman he loved. They protected him as much as the helmet did. It didn’t matter. _It didn’t_.

But it would take some getting used to.

They walked Yadier to school, the child skipping and hopping and burbling the whole way, just like any other day.

Ona greeted them at the door, just like any other day. When Yadier dashed in to join his friends, his teacher turned back to his parents. “Master Yandia said he wished to see you in his chambers as soon as you got here.”

Rayne felt Din stiffen next to her. “Thank you,” she said, and they set forth.

The line of his shoulders was taut. His movement was nothing short of ultra-efficient, no motion wasted. As much as a solid pillar of walking beskar as possible. When they reached the central atrium, with its two-tree jungle and butterflies, he had to stop, hands gripping the rail, head bowed between his shoulders, motionless.

She stood next to him, her hand on the rail next to his.

“What if-” His voice hitched. “What if…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“Then we’ll figure something out,” she said. “I can bring him to Jedha. We can meet there. As much as possible.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” Her tone was hard, as if she would brook no argument. “You will always be his father. You’re the one who brought him here. You returned their Lost Son. I will never let the Council forget that. Or our son.”

“Thank you.” His tone was a mix of gravel and gratitude. He placed his hand over hers on the rail. She spread her fingers so he could lace his own through them.

Once again, he watched the butterflies. Locked inside.

He wondered if he was about to get locked out.

* * *

They waited in Yandia’s chamber. Rayne in the customary Jedi meditative kneel, Din in his customary butt-to-the-mat-knees-to-the-elbows cross-legged sit. They did not have to wait long, as Yandia entered only a few minutes later, sinking into the curious squat that came so easily to his species.

He got straight to business.

“Deliberated long and hard the Council has on the matter of Din Djarin’s citizenship at Genesaria. Many factors we took into account. Your return of our Lost Son we will never forget. Your love for him, and his love for you a major factor was.” Yandia paused, as if to soften the blow of what was to come next. “Also of concern your swiftness to violence was. Troubled and damaged you are. A prime target of the Dark Side you may be. Difficult to find was a place of practical use for your skillset. Of concern were your ties to Death Watch.”

Din remained still through it all. As if he had frozen solid under the armor.

“And yet,” Yandia continued. “Tremendous growth you have shown. Flexibility in your ways you have demonstrated. Even love you have admitted.” The old master cast the faintest of knowing glances in Rayne’s direction, and she did not miss it. He breathed a great sigh. “A warrior you are. A warrior you will always be. In this, you will not change. But the causes for war you have grown more selective in. A worthy target is the Empire still. A great threat this resurgence the Council agrees.

“For these reasons, earned the citizenship of Genesaria you have, Din Djarin.”

Something in Din’s posture faltered, as if he wasn’t expecting what he’d just heard, his brain stumbling to catch up to it.

And then, an exhale of relief, of a breath he had been holding for two months.

He could keep his son.

He could raise his son.

He could be a father. A real father.

Him. Yadier. Rayne. They could stay a family. A real family. Here. Among his son’s people.

Rayne closed her eyes, feeling Din’s relief wash over her own. As if a barrier somewhere in him had broken and it all came rushing out. They could stay together. Her son could keep his father.

She could keep her Mandalorian.

He could keep his Jedi.

“Much work yet there is to be done,” Yandia continued. “Force-resistance training the Mandalorian must undergo. Counseling as a family you also require. Orphans, all three of you are. Much trauma you have each suffered. Guidance as a family of orphans you will have need of. Force-sensitives not of Jedi training make the best counselors for such things. Hm!” Yandia seemed to laugh at his own joke.

“And now the training you can provide us, we come to,” Yandia said. “Many agents Genesaria sends abroad. To listen. To gather. Sometimes to influence. To keep us hidden. Some Force-sensitive, some not. Some walk the path of the Sentinel, some the path of the Guardian, as do you, Rayne and Din. Highly proficient your skills are. Invaluable, your training to these agents would be.

“In these ways you both will begin your contributions to Genesaria. Grow, your roles will, as your familiarity with this world grows. Defeat of the Imperial resurgence, a union of the Jedi and Mandalorians may herald. You are not yet too old to accomplish great things, here. The unification of the Jedi and Mandalorians may yet occur under your guidance.”

Din’s head was bowed, and he sucked in a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he said, his tone low but even.

“Go now,” Yandia said, “and take the day to settle in. Your duties begin tomorrow.”

Din led the way back outside, strides long and purposeful. Rayne almost had to jog to keep up, but she did so without complaint, finding her relief and joy and anticipation reflected in the armored man next to her.

No… not just reflected. He was _flooded_ with it. Like a switch had been flipped in his brain and a year’s worth of hardships, sacrifices, struggles, and dreams were finally coming to fruition.

When instead of turning towards their place, Din turned in the opposite direction, heading to a different quadrant of the city, Rayne was confused. “Where are we going?” She’d hoped to head back and catch up on what they couldn’t complete the night before.

Din turned back and took both of her hands in his. “Follow me?” He said it like it was a question. As if she wouldn’t.

“Of course.”

They didn’t walk far, a mile at the most, an easy distance over the flat topography of the city and the warm, dry day. The neighborhood was similar to the one they were quartered in currently, modest high-rises with ground-floor restaurants, bars, and retail, though perhaps geared more toward permanent residents and less toward visitors from the countryside or abroad. Outdoor markets of all types crowded the side-streets; food, furnishings, fashion. Din slowed at one of the high-rises and ducked into the residential lobby, Rayne following.

The door attendant appeared to be expecting them. “Mando. Jedi Rollins. Please follow me.”

Rayne cast a look in Din’s direction, which he ignored with stoic precision.

Up the elevator they went.

They stopped and exited at the thirty-first floor. The numbers on the panel went up to forty.

The attendant led the way to the end of the hall, keying the lock to the door. “Take as much time as you need,” she said, casting a small nod in Din’s direction.

The door opened into a corner flat, and Rayne came to a sudden realization.

“So this is what you’ve been up to all week.”

“Yes,” Din said, walking to the middle of the main room, with windows on two sides.

He’d been hunting… of sorts. House hunting. Not knowing if he’d even be able to stay at the place he’d picked out. He shrugged, as if reading her question of his logic. “You and Yadier needed a place either way. This seemed like something you’d like.”

Indeed, it was. Small without being cramped, still enormous compared to the living space on the Razor Crest. Cozy without being confined, the west-facing windows included a door opening onto a deep balcony overlooking the city, roofed-over by the balcony for the next floor up. Comfortable without being a cage, its simplicity and proximity would allow them to focus on their coming responsibilities. Kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, all in good order, an open floor plan that allowed for flexibility of arrangements. Simple but comfortable. Close to the Jedi temple and all manner of bustle and activity at the street-level, Din recalling Rayne’s absorptive response to a similar kind of area at Coruscant when he had picked it out.

After a thorough inspection, Rayne stood in the middle of the main room, overwhelmed. “It’s… it’s…” She looked to Din. “Will it work for you? It’s not too urban? Too… dense?”

He shrugged again. “Soundproofing is good up here. Light-rail platform around the corner. Straight shot to the shipyards from here so we can get to the Crest easily. It’s a good base of operations. I found a few other options if you want to take a look…”

He pulled his book tablet out and showed her the pictures of the other possibilities, but she shook her head. “No, this is the best one. What’s the price?”

Her jaw dropped when he showed her the contract. “They cut the asking price in half when they figured out who we were. I got it back up to something less embarrassing, but not by much.”

She could buy it outright. So, in signing the contract, she did.

And just like that, they were homeowners.

Din had done the same with the basic furnishing necessities, having had a few things set aside at the nearby markets until they met with Rayne’s approval. The only thing she hesitated with was their bed. “I kinda want to try it out before-”

“It’s the same model we had at Reesha and Zavin’s place.”

“We’ll take it.”

That settled, they went back to their temporary lodging, packed up the few belongings they had there, checked out, and by the time they returned, everything had been delivered.

It wasn’t until that moment when it finally all hit him.

He belonged here.

He was home.

Din… _had a home_. A home that was rooted in the ground. An actual place, instead of a vehicle. An actual space, instead of a nook in a sewer. With people who loved him. People who protected him and who he, in turn, protected. He stood in the middle of his home, gaze fixed somewhere through the window looking out over the city, brought his hands to the bottom edge of his helmet, and lifted it off.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The woman he loved, his Jedi, snaked a hand behind his cloak and flattened it against the small of his back. “Welcome home,” she whispered. “You’re ready for this? To settle down?”

He turned to face her, locking her gaze with those brown eyes of his. Without breaking eye contact, he undid the vambraces from his forearms and let them fall to the floor. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. Settle down. But not… settling. We’re not done, yet.”

“No,” she said. “We’re not.” Rayne helped him with the rest of the armor. Their traditional removal of it. Piece by unhurried piece.

He led her to their bedroom.

They made love in the afternoon light streaming in through the open windows.

The sunlight caught copper highlights in his hair. Warmed the tone of his skin.

Never before had he been able to see what he was doing with his mouth. Never before had he been able to see what he was doing when his lover’s fingers were twined through his hair. Never before had he been able to allow eye contact at that first moment of connection, to allow another to look into his soul through those moments of penetration, to allow another to see his eyes when they were both at their most vulnerable.

He was so happy it was with Rayne.

The mother of his son. His Jedi.

To taste her and see her and feel her tide rise up his spine all at the same time was almost too much, his movement more urgent than was his custom, but she followed his lead with willing abandon. He was embarrassed at the sound of his own groans in his ears until she responded in kind, unable to keep her eyes open as her release finally crashed over them, the swell of it pushing up through his throat and into his head. And when he followed soon after, she watched him as he flooded her mind, brow furrowed, eyes shut tight, lips pulled back just a little from his teeth, until his features smoothed out and relaxed.

* * *

Yadier loved their new home, explored every inch of it with great fanfare, and fell asleep with ease in his first actual bed. A small mattress low to the floor to facilitate his getting in and out of it, his parents knowing better than to try to cage him in a crib.

The Jedi and the Mandalorian went for a second round, this time in the moonlight. Slower. Quieter. More languid and relaxed.

After, Din sat with his shoulders against the headboard, Rayne once again in his lap, legs wrapped around him, arms around his shoulders, kissing in the dim light. After several long, unhurried minutes, she pulled away to rest her forehead against his. “Unifying the Jedi and the Mandalorians, huh?” She’d known _something_ had been kicking around in his head for the last month or so, something he hadn’t dared give voice to, and finally put the pieces together when Yandia spoke the words that morning.

Din let out a satisfied sigh. “We make a good team.”

“Mm. We do.” She kissed the bridge of his nose. “You think that’ll scale up? Will Mandalorians be so quick to get over that thing about thousands of years of war with the enemy sorcerers?”

“If we do it right,” he said. “If both our people can each learn from our failures. Our own and each other’s.”

“That’ll be tricky.”

“Yes.” He ran his hands from her knees to her hips. “It will.” He brought his lips to the space under her jaw next to her throat and placed a kiss there, heart swelling as she sighed into it. “We’ll have to set a good example.”

“Yeah? How does that work?”

His hands twitched at her hips, and he waited until her eyes met his before saying the next words. “By unifying a Jedi and a Mandalorian.”

She tilted her head, but did not break eye contact. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“I am.”

He really had broken open. She took in a deep breath. “What’s the rush?”

“No rush. Just… why wait?”

She smiled and shook her head. “When you brought me into your clan, it was as Yadier’s mother.” She paused as she swallowed. “And that… I never dreamed anything could be so huge. It’s been the most incredible journey, the most incredible part of my life, and I can’t thank you enough for bringing him into it.”

She paused, battling words that lodged in her throat.

Din tried to ease her forward. “But…”

“Since then, I know that, to you, I was the mother of your son. To me, you were the father of my son. But we had trouble figuring out what we were to each other directly. We just barely got through the ‘L-word’ yesterday. We’ve only known each other for two months. We slept together after only knowing each other for three days. I adopted your son after only three weeks. Let’s… take our time on this one. Ease into it. Look forward to it for a while.”

His eyes were almost pleading in the moonlight, and she felt his yearning to solidify their family roll in like the tide. “Is that a yes or a no?”

She brought her forehead to his, knowing what the gesture meant to him. “It’s an ‘ask me again in six months.’ We’ve only known each other in extraordinary circumstances. We have a whole new life ahead of us here. I do want this. Let’s just… not put too much pressure on it all at once.”

“Three months,” he countered.

“You bargain like a Jawa.”

He rolled his eyes and let out a growling sigh.

Rayne laughed. “Okay. Three months. If you can still tolerate me by then, ask me again. I’ll most likely say yes. Then we get hitched whenever you want.”

“Deal.” He brought his lips to hers. A family. An honest-to-god family. He wanted to ride this wave forever.

“So what’s involved with a Mandalorian wedding?” She slid a finger along his collarbone.

“Just us and the words.” His hands slid back to her knees, dark eyes gazing into hers, gauging her reaction.

“Mm. Sounds nice. Simple.” She leaned her forehead back to his, and he closed his eyes, sighing into the contact. “What do the words mean?”

“We are one when together. We are one when apart. We share all. We will raise warriors.” Something warm bloomed in his chest as he spoke them. He slid his hands back up to her hips. “We’ve been doing all that for a while.”

“Yeah.” She paused. “So I get half the Razor Crest,” she teased.

He laughed. “I get half of that ridiculous pile of money from that deal on Coruscant.”

“See what I mean about easing into things?”

“Yes,” he conceded. “I’m definitely getting the better deal.” He kissed her again. “I’m guessing there are no Jedi weddings.”

She laughed. “No.”

“What’s involved with an Onderonian wedding?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” She ran her nose along his. “We can go with the Mandalorian version.”

He opened his eyes, met her gaze, then brought his lips to hers by way of thanks. When they broke off, he kept his forehead to hers, kept his eyes closed. “We could do it right now.”

He really was eager. When Din went in to something, he went _all_ in. “Three months,” she said.

“Okay.”

“In the meantime,” she continued, “I thought maybe I’d get some more ink. If it’s appropriate.”

He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head in a silent question. Good _god_ , this man’s face.

“A mudhorn. On my right shoulder. I know I haven’t earned it, but-”

“You’ve more than earned it,” Din interrupted. “You’ve absolutely earned it.” He kissed her once again, long and deep.

* * *

The next day, they dropped Yadier off at school and then headed to the Razor Crest. Rayne wanted to fix the ion leak she’d rigged with the starboard engine before their last encounter with Gideon. Din wanted to re-arrange a few things and pick up more of his belongings. The ship needed re-fueling. They didn’t know when they would take it out again, but they wanted it to be ready.

Rayne found Din on the flight deck when she was done with the engine. “I saw a bazaar nearby. I’m gonna go sell Xi’an’s knives there, if that’s ok.”

He sighed. “Yes. Thank you.”

She ran a thumb along the top of the T-visor. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay.”

He listened as she opened the drawer in the hold, heard the distinctive snick of the blades as they were removed, heard Rayne’s light steps down the ramp as she left. Looking through the windscreen, he watched as she struck out through the yard, amber shades over her eyes, sun casting red highlights through her short chestnut curls, lightsaber clipped to her belt.

He settled himself in his seat, took a breath, and flicked the com recorder on.

_Omera,_

_I hope this finds you well. I’m calling to let you know that I’ve found a safe place for the child with his people._

_I’m… staying with him._

_Our family includes another we met along the way. The child wanted her as his mother, and she and I have grown… close._

_Please know that I will never forget you and what you did for me and my son. I hope that you find happiness. You deserve it._

_Please give Winta our best._

_Goodbye._

He closed the contact on the recorder and sent the message.

He had allowed his voice to crack, allowed her the knowledge of how difficult it was for him to let her go. He sat there for a few more moments, head bowed, packing up that piece of his soul to preserve it in his memory. Had he loved Omera? Yes, probably. In that way that he would never have been able to admit, never having allowed it to fledge. Not quite the right woman. Not quite the right time. She would have given him what he wanted, would have given him all the love she had, but she would not quite have been able to give him what he needed. She would not have been able to give safety to him and his son.

The woman who could do that was out selling the knives that had been thrown to kill her. That she had plucked out of the air like fruit off of a tree. Who possessed an armor that would protect him even when he shed his own.

He turned and opened a small drawer, pulling the small drive that held the classified files that Reesha had given him. Gideon’s words about Alaria drifted through his thoughts. He slid the drive into a pocket.

Maybe he would look into that in a few more days.

He slid a hand along the console, then flicked a switch, shutting the auxiliaries down. He then swiveled around, taking in the rest of the flight deck.

His ship.

His home for close to two decades.

It had seen him through some rough times. It had given him protection. It had given him solitude. It had chugged along to the best of its capabilities, only giving out when he’d pushed it far too hard or neglected it for far too long, and yet it had always hung on.

Now, it would no longer serve as his home. It would go back to being a vehicle of service, as it once had been long ago. He didn’t know what role it might have in their coming responsibilities, but he knew it would come into play, one way or the other. _We’re not done with you yet, old girl_.

Din Djarin, Mandalorian, wielder of the Darksaber, got up from his seat, slid down the ladder, and waited in the hold for the woman he intended to make his wife to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! What a journey.
> 
> Yep, we have a few lose ends here and there, but those will be for another story to tie up. For now, it’s safe to imagine the clan of Rollins-Djarin will have some time to settle down, rest up, and truly get to know each other as a real family and strengthen those bonds. They’ll have their eyes on the future, though, and they know they have a lot of work ahead of them. It’s unlikely that the next story will be laid out with completion by the start of Season Two, but one never knows. I’ll have it as part of this series though, so if you want to stay tuned, subscribe to the series and you’ll get an email when I get back to it. As always, comments help feed the muse, so anything you might have to say about this round would be greatly appreciated as I ponder the next one.
> 
> This leg of the journey is finished, and I thank all of you who have commented and made me think more deeply about what I’ve written. I hope I provided suitable distraction at a time that was, at first, unbearable only because the length of time between the seasons for this show was so long, but then became even more unbearable due to an unprecedented, global pandemic. I hope this story made this time more bearable for you, however slight of an impact it may have had.
> 
> I started writing this back in November, after the fifth episode (The Gunslinger). I’d just blown the ACL in my left knee (tripping on the sidewalk during my evening jog – I don’t even have a good story for it), the weather was just starting to get crappy for the winter, my mind needed to blow off steam somehow, and the ideas began to fill my brain. I worked on my knee, I worked on this story, and I even missed a train stop once because I was daydreaming a scene. The week after I was cleared from physical therapy with the coming of spring, The Plague hit the US. So, I holed up at home, and working on this story made social distancing a doable thing. 
> 
> For now, I need a bit of a break. I put the Game of Thrones books down when I picked this up, and it’s time I got back to that. Better Call Saul has been rotting away on my Netflix account from neglect. I think I have a spouse somewhere in this house, as well. :) I’m not sure what the summer will bring pandemic-wise, but re-engaging with the outside world will appear on the horizon at some point, and I’ll need the headspace for that. And with that engagement will come new story ideas – I think I’ve gotten a bit stale clicking away at this from either the kitchen table or the couch for… six months? Good god. I’m lucky I didn’t grow roots.
> 
> Time to move around for a bit.
> 
> Be well and be safe, everyone. 
> 
> May the Force be with you.
> 
>  **EDIT:** In case you don't get through the comments below, catsANDistanbul created some _stunning_ illustrations for this story! Check them out [here](https://imgur.com/a/XOuWy6E) and keep an eye out for more from this talented artist!


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